


Dogsled's Destiel Kinktober Prompts

by Dogsled



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Against a Wall, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Aphrodisiacs, BDSM, Background Femslash, Background Het, Bathroom Sex, Begging, Betrayal, Biting, Blood Kink, Bondage, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Branding, Butt Plugs, Canonical Character Death, Castiel (Supernatural) and Bees, Castiel Has Panic Attacks, Castiel Has a Large Cock, Cock Worship, Collars, Come Shot, Condoms, Consensual Kink, Cop Fetish, Costume Kink, Curse Breaking, Dean Acts Like a Dog, Dean Proposes, Dean in Panties, Declarations Of Love, Demon Dean Winchester, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Smut, Flying Sex, Foot Fetish, Fucking Machine, Ghosts, Hand Feeding, Hurt No Comfort, Impact Play, Knifeplay, Lapdance, Lingerie, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Mark of Cain, Masks, Masochist Dean, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Mirror Sex, Mutual Masturbation, No Lube, Non-Consensual Tickling, Not Really Character Death, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgy, Painplay, Pet Dean, Possession, Prayer, Profound Bond, Prostitution, Public Hand Jobs, Public Humiliation, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Safewords, Sex Club, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Switching, Tattoos, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Unrequited Love, Violence, Voyeurism, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-07 18:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 42,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: Thirty-one scorching hot Kinktober drabbles/ficlets. Chapter titles are the prompts chosen, and warnings will vary depending on the prompt. Top!Cas in one chapter is no guarantee he will remain so in the next.





	1. Aphrodisiacs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aggressively sexual (toppy) aphrodisiac-ed Castiel  
> Blowjob

Dean staggered under Castiel’s full strength. He felt like a mosquito smacking full pelt into the Impala’s windshield, the breath knocked out of him both by the initial blow and then by the wall at his back. Immediately, Cas was right at his throat like a hungry animal, heaving steamy hot breaths against his bare skin, so scorching and so electric that Little Dean – caught napping – was now paying very much more attention to the angel’s body than it ever had before.

There was no escaping it. The scent of Castiel’s body filled the space, and it was all Dean could think about, the natural and preternatural power in muscles hidden under far too may layers of wool and cotton and polyester, as though by hiding the physical prowess, the divine might also be concealed beside it. Dean had caught glimpses before, and if he’d had to hold his tongue and mentally whisper “down boy!” to himself when Cas loosened his top two shirt buttons, then that was perfectly heterosexual of him, thanks so much.

Maybe not.

There was definitely nothing heterosexual about the way Cas bore into him now, the shockingly capable twist of his hips as they drove up against Dean’s own, trapping his erection at its most vulnerable. Castiel was already hard as diamond, but it was the sound he made as he thrust Dean punishingly against the wall that really broke reality; this heartbreaking sound of mixed need and misery, reaching into Dean’s soul and twisting with an iron fist.

Cas wanted this, but it wasn’t his choice.

Dean twisted his hands against Castiel’s shoulders, reached for his neck and wound his fingers in the short strands of hair at the nape, but he didn’t have the strength to push Castiel away. Short of another angel, he doubted there was any power on Earth that could stop him. What chance did Dean have?

A laugh caught his attention from the other side of the room. A titter, more like. Aphrodite. What a total bitch. She perched herself on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs, and played with her bottom lip with her teeth as Castiel assaulted Dean’s throat with his own. He was bruising, brutal, but it was like the perfect storm of sex, like Cas knew without doubt just how much pressure he needed to use to turn Dean on, and what kind of things would drive him wild long before he worried about bleeding, or bruises, or going completely mad from desire in the meantime.

Dean didn’t give a shit about Aphrodite at the moment. Mostly he just wished that she would go away. He might as well be on the opposite side of the planet to the weapon that would kill her. It sat on the bedside table, with a horny angel between him and the stake of old, bloodsoaked wood. Could be on the moon for all the good it did.

Cas started tearing the buttons on his shirt. Dean didn’t try to struggle, obligingly making the best of holding on while Cas clawed his shirt open and descended rabidly on the tattoo in the center of his chest. Between wet kisses, Cas made pathetic sad noises, and Dean moved his hands back to his hair again, stroking through it. He didn’t need to do that, just like he didn’t need to coo Cas’ name softly, bending down to stare at the back of his head.

“Cas. Cas, it’s okay. I promise. I’m not mad. It could just as easily be me whammied by this spell, and I--ah.” Okay, talking was hard. Cas was pawing at his nipples with both hands, and Dean felt his knees just about go out from under him. Words were out of the question. The hands went lower, and Dean felt his heart beat faster. “Woah—okay.”

Cas looked up at him. There was concern twisted in his expression, even as his hands eagerly – expertly - worked open Dean’s fly.

“I know you can’t stop, so you just do what you’ve got to—fuck.”

That was enough talking. What with Cas deep throating him like he had something to prove, Dean figured he was done talking about it, too. He’d worry about piecing their lives back together from this experience later. 

As for killing Aphrodite? Well, she was damn lucky that his mind was on other things when she slipped out of the room, like trying not to knock his head on the floor when Cas pulled him down toward the rug and splayed him out on his back, dipping down between his thighs to probe at his hole with his devilishly cunning tongue.

Oh, he was going to kill that bitch. It was a sure thing. Just as soon as Cas fucked him senseless, right here on this scratchy, threadbare motel room carpet.

Later. Right. He’d kill her later.


	2. Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody is explicitly topping, take your pick!

“Cock.”

 

Castiel squirmed in the front seat, looking with even more determination than usual out the passenger side window. They were eating up the miles, but the tape deck had eaten up one of Dean’s beat up old albums, and he was absolutely certain he’d have to take the whole damn unit out in order to fix it.

 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean prompted. “You can do it.”

 

“Why does it matter whether or not I can say… Whether or not I say _that_ or not?”

 

“Because I want you to,” Dean pouted. “Isn’t that enough?”

 

Cas was still stoic.

 

“Oh, come on. Sure, it’s not like it’s gonna save the world or something, but come on, Cas. You want to explore what it’s like to be human, right? So _explore_. Try it. It’s not like you’ll go to Hell for it.”

 

“Do humans truly believe that?”

 

“Hey, it’s written in _your_ book.”

 

“No it isn’t,” Castiel answered, humming as he dared a glance back toward Dean.

 

“Then what about the second commandment? Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain?”

 

Cas rolled his eyes. “A mistranslation. The correct interpretation is not to use the Lord’s name in such a way as to void it of its power.”

 

“You’re ruining my buzz here, Cas.”

 

“I’m educating you,” Castiel answered, snappishly.

 

“Same thing. Come on, Cas. You can fight demons and cut the heads off Leviathan and stuff, the least you can do is say the word “cock” for me.”

 

There was silence in the car. Dean kept driving, hardly daring to look across at Cas again. He figured, after a minute or two, that Castiel simply wasn’t going to say it at all. Why would he?

 

And then—

 

“Cock.”

 

It was so soft-spoken that Dean almost missed it.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Cock.”

 

This time, Cas enunciated so forcefully Dean almost drove off the road.

 

“Did I say it wrong?” Cas asked, when the Impala was facing nose-first along the asphalt again.

 

“Jesus— _no_ , Cas, you didn’t say it wrong. You nailed it.”  


“I could nail something else,” Cas remarked, easily, “If you like.”

 

“I—what?” Dean shot a glance across at him, certain he’d heard wrong.

 

“You’d enjoy it, wouldn’t you?” Cas asked, his voice dropping into such a low register that Dean was pretty sure it would turn dolphins on, and it dropped lower still as he continued to speak. “You could pull over here. We could fuck at the side of the road like teenagers—or perhaps in the back seat like your other conquests?”

 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was shaky, nervous now. “Where is all this coming from?”

 

The angel looked over at him, and there was something in his expression that Dean would have studied for longer if he didn’t need to look at the road. Instead he hunched his shoulders higher, defensively, and tried not to gulp too hard when Cas started creeping along the bench toward him.

 

“Does it turn you on thinking about me like that, Dean? Do you think about me when you’re touching yourself in the dark, your hand wrapped around your _cock_.”

 

“Stop,” Dean breathed. The word came out in a rush, and when he glanced over at Cas again, he couldn’t quite bring himself to look him in the eye. He looked back at the road instead, feeling shaken.

 

Cas wasn’t coming any closer. In fact, at the command he sank back, settling into his seat again heavily. Rattled, Dean pulled over, stopping the car a little too roughly on the hard shoulder and probably dinging the Impala’s paintwork with loose gravel.

 

“Where did you learn to do that?”

 

Cas shrugged one shoulder. “It’s in all the literature. And you have HBO back at the bunker.”

 

Dean stared at him. “You learned to talk dirty from books and HBO?”

 

“Mostly HBO,” Cas answered, daring to glance across at him. “You didn’t like it?”

 

Dean shifted his legs, discreetly reaching down to readjust his jeans in the dark. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

 

Cas, the master of both dirty talk and apparently also visual torture, cautiously worked his tongue and then his teeth against his bottom lip. “Do you want me to say something else?” he asked.

 

“Nah,” Dean answered, unbuckling his seatbelt and glancing up and down the empty road. “I think we’re done talking.”


	3. Public Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biggerson's? More like--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aggressively sexual Cas. Bottom!Dean if you squint.  
> Handjobs in public. Sam doesn't know.

It all began to go wrong the day after Cas watched There’s Something About Mary. He’d been drawn to the title by the name, wondering if the movie wouldn’t shed some clues on Dean’s mother. Of course he knew the plot back to front already, thanks to Metatron’s meddling, but Cas seemed loathe to let the Scribe’s interference prevent him from enjoying a good Rom-Com, especially when it meant he got to cuddle up with Dean.

Dean was fine and dandy with the arrangement too.

It was the unexpected consequences that caught him off guard: Castiel sliding a hand into the back pocket of his jeans at the Gas’n’Sip; Cas slipping into the changing room with him at Suits and Things and kissing him senseless as he helped unbutton Dean’s shirt; Cas groping him under the table at Biggerson’s.

It took everything in Dean’s power not to jump out of his skin at the squeeze of rough fingers to his cock. Dean was wearing a suit – his new suit, since the last one had started looking too worn to be professional – and without a layer of denim as armor against the world, Cas’ fingers had room to play.

The place was crowded, full of teenagers and families, as well as more truckers than Dean had ever seen. Usually he and Sam stayed away from the well-beaten track, but it seemed that in these times of austerity, the all American roadtrip had brought the beaten-track to them. Sam sat opposite them with his laptop out, fingers kneading his temple as he strained to focus on his research. If not for the free wi-fi they wouldn’t be here, but their motel was charging an extortionate price for internet; a price the Winchester brothers couldn’t currently afford to pay.

Sam didn’t notice Dean grunt with all the riot of noise around them. Castiel, though, with his eyes as bright as polished gemstones, seemed utterly delighted with it.

“Cas,” Dean warned, measuring his tone forcefully, and trying to keep it so low that Sam wouldn’t pay attention. It didn’t work. Sam looked up, and Dean smiled a watery smile at him and picked up his half eaten burger, pretending to get back to it.

That was all the permission Castiel needed, and Dean had to struggle not to bite his tongue as Cas’ fingers splayed even more persistently against his crotch.

The restaurant turned into a blur of light and color, with Sam focused front and center, mostly because Dean was paralyzed with fear that his brother would look up at him again and somehow know. It wasn’t that he wanted to look at Sam while Cas’ questing fingers tugged at the tails of his shirt and unbuttoned his fly. But Dean couldn’t be caught making terrified moon eyes at Cas, either.

He dug his fingernails into his burger, and muffled his squeak with the bread roll as Cas’ hand slipped acrobatically into his underwear, and wrapped firmly around his growing erection.

When Cas chose his vessel, Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t chosen him specifically for his hands, but God—Dean was obsessed by them. Cas’ hands were elegant, and he made the simplest thing look pretty, even if it was just holding a beer bottle, or spinning a Twister arrow. Okay, so Dean had spent a lot of time just looking at Cas’ hands, but it was nothing to having them on him, all over him. Castiel was nothing if not an enthusiastic lover.

Case in point.

Dean groaned. Across from him, Sam snorted and ducked his attention back to his laptop, taking the noise for Dean’s usual pleasure at having a mouthful of American beef.

Long, athletic fingers worked him until he was far too hard for a public restaurant in broad daylight. But they didn’t stop there. The delicate head of his cock, moist with precome, was dragged up brutally against damp white cotton, and Cas curled his fist into a tighter grip. Dean spared a glance across the table. Only the slightest hint of movement in his tan coat demonstrated what Cas was doing under the tablecloth. Demonstrating miraculous dexterity, Cas had his phone out in his right hand, his thumb dragging up and down the screen. The occasional cheerful chiming sound made it very clear that he was in the middle of a game of Candy Crush.

Dean didn’t dare lower his burger. Flushing all the way to his ears, he sank his teeth into it, muffling a whimper as Cas probed the slit with the tip of his thumbnail.

Sam laughed suddenly, glancing up, and Dean flinched. Cas stopped stroking, squeezing firmly instead as Dean blinked the lights away that were dancing between him and Sam.

“What?” he said, thickly, testing his voice and lowering his burger half an inch.

“You’re all red. You okay, man?”

“It’s uh. The chilli sauce.”

“You ordered chilli? We’ve talked about this, Dean.”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped. “Two words, Sam: broccoli bake.”

Sam had the decency to blush. “I’m going to hit the little boy’s room. Maybe if I take my laptop in there I’ll be able to concentrate.”

Dean couldn’t help the feeling of relief that rushed over him, but it would be out of character if he didn’t give his brother hell either way.

“Yeah, you do that. Just no cottaging for tips while you’re in there, okay Sammy?”

“Ew, gross. Gross, Dean.”

Dean faked a chortle as Sam closed his laptop and wiggled off the bench. With Sam out of the picture, Dean finally chanced a look across at Cas again, hissing at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yes, it’s obvious. Why are—“ Dean choked back on any more words, shuddering all over as Cas stroked upward again. Any hope that his brief interlude with Sam had dissuaded his cock in any way went up in smoke. Cas smirked right in the corner of his mouth and kept going.

“J-Jesus, Cas. You’re crazy. We’re going to get caught.”

It was taking everything for Dean just to keep breathing. Words were next to impossible, and he was sure that there wasn’t anything he could say in the next six or ten syllables that would stop Cas for good.

Besides, he was sweating now, and Cas – without Sam to worry about – was going at it at Warp 5, squeezing the head on every upstroke in a way that he knew set Dean’s teeth on edge. 

With a flailing, clumsy hand, Dean grabbed for the napkins from his burger, shoving them down between his legs awkwardly. Cas obliged the unspoken command, scooping the napkins up and anchoring them in place with his thumb as he kept up the brutal pace.

Dean, one hand squshing his burger to pulp, the other gripping the edge of the table hard enough to dent the vinyl cover, came moments later, and thank God – thank God – that he’d spent his whole childhood on the road with his brother and father, because nothing short of a lifetime of practice would have kept him quiet otherwise.

Castiel looked fucking triumphant. Without even looking in Dean’s direction – though Dean suspected that Cas had been sneaking peeks all along – Cas cleaned him up by touch alone, crumpled the napkins in his hand, and let Dean be.

With trembling, relish covered fingers, Dean rezipped his fly. The sound of the restaurant was already rushing back in, the bustle of people moving past, waitresses calling out orders, kids screaming in the play area. Dean looked around, cautiously. Nobody was looking right at them, which he took as a win, and with it came a vicarious thrill, like breaking into a house for the first time, or hustling someone who truly deserved it.

They hadn’t gotten caught, and Dean felt incredible.

Clearly the feeling was mutual, because now it was Cas’ turn to squirm in his seat, looking thoroughly uncomfortable beneath all his layers. Grinning, Dean shifted over, leaning up into his angel’s throat and whispering softly to him.

“If we hurry, I can give you a blow job in the car before Sam comes back and wonders where we’ve gone.”

If it was as packed in the parking lot as it was in here, Cas was going to get a real kick out of it. And besides, Dean felt invulnerable, still glowing from his orgasm.

Cas tipped his nose toward him, his game forgotten. “How long do you think we have?”

“Long enough,” Dean said, practically grinning against Castiel’s mouth.

A huffing noise sounded from the next booth over, an angry looking frazzle-haired woman with a red face and an army of rowdy children was glaring at them both. Dean brushed his mouth against Cas’ just to hear the sound of her indignation, and then shoved at Cas’ hips to get him moving. 

“Come on. I owe you one.”


	4. Knife Play (Begging)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter are D/s dynamics, knife play, safewords, begging, bloodletting, Mark of Cain, pain as kink and suspension. You have been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter summary.  
> Top!Dean Sub!Cas  
> Consensual sadomasochism

Castiel breathed out his tension. Slowly he let some of his anxiety slip away. It was always like this. The first sight of the blade made him wobbly like a newborn calf, which considering he was suspended with his arms stretched behind his head, only served to make him nervous. Unlike a human, the pressure in the center of his chest didn’t fill him with fear that his ribs were going to break. Instead, it added a layer of excitement that he had given up trying to comprehend.

 

It wasn’t even an angel blade, although Dean had one of those to hand as well. They started out small and worked their way up. If the mark on Dean’s arm sang with the need for blood, then Castiel answered. He always answered. He owed Dean that much.

 

“Dean.”

 

“Shh,” Dean murmured, turning the blade in the light. “Take it easy.”

 

Cas trembled but obeyed, keeping silent as Dean came closer, but watching him with wary blue eyes all the while.

 

The blade touched flat against his jaw, tender almost; almost affectionate.

 

“Are you comfortable? You can answer my questions.”

 

“Yes,” Castiel answered.

 

“Do you remember your colors?”

 

“How could I forget?” There was more to the answer than he meant – he was an angel, after all, he forgot nothing - but Dean admonished him with a tap of the blade to his cheek.

 

“One word only.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. If anything changes you tell me. What color?”

 

“Green.”

 

Dean didn’t hesitate or offer any further warning. He tipped the blade, and pressed the edge into Cas’ jaw, watching him shoulder his defiance against pain that was gone only a moment later. Blood spilled for long enough that Dean was able to dip in and suck the last trace of it away, leaving only the slightest pink stain behind amongst the bristles of Cas’ stubble.

 

Flicking the blade gave Dean the catharsis he needed, and Castiel didn’t care for the pain so long as Dean’s mouth chased it, the warmth of his tongue a salve to the abuse. With the regular blade he left no mark behind, and while Cas knew that the same wouldn’t be true of the angel blade, once Dean moved to it, he was prepared to absorb that pain as well, so long as it absolved Dean of the influence of the Mark for even a short time.

 

For now, Dean led himself agonizingly down the length of Cas’ torso, kissing against the stretched curve of his shoulder, over the strained flesh of his breastbone, and tantalizingly close to his left nipple. The latter had Castiel moaning softly, twitching his hips in a way that knocked him off balance, forcing him to splay his feet a little wider to stay upright.

 

“You have an incredible body, Cas. I mean. Jimmy Novak must have really worked out.”

 

“Please—“ Cas began. Dean shushed him with another tap of the knife.

 

“I haven’t asked you to beg yet,” Dean said softly.

 

Perhaps it was for the best that Castiel wasn’t begging. Truly, he’d merely wanted Dean to keep from mentioning Jimmy, an object of his own guilt and nothing else. It wasn’t remotely seductive.

 

When Cas fell quiet again, Dean smiled, and Jimmy was forgotten. He waited, breathless as Dean lowered himself, bringing the blade lightly against his hip bone, and quickly bending in to suckle at the wound. It healed under his tongue, but not before Dean moaned against his flesh, and when he looked back up, his pupils were lust blown. Dean was all teeth as he grinned.

 

“You have the most incredible hip bones, Cas. They’re perfect. Beautiful.”

 

Castiel still wasn’t sure how to enjoy compliments about his body, but he didn’t care so long as Dean was enjoying it. He’d much rather be in a vessel that Dean enjoyed, especially since he’d spent so many years wondering if Dean liked him in this form at all. If only he’d kept his female body they could have been doing this years ago.

 

Dean spent a few more moments grazing kisses over his hips without involving the blade again. By the time his attention was spent, Cas was rock hard, his cock tenting his slacks obscenely. His shoes scuffed on the floor again to keep his balance as Dean pulled away.

 

Castiel knew what was coming. First the candle, through which Dean would lick the blade with flame until it was sooty black, and then Dean dipped it into the flask of holy oil. The warm blade then sliced a gash just beneath his diaphragm. Even with the warning Cas found himself yelping, abs crunching as, just for a moment, his body attempted to protect itself, and his feet lifted off the floor. He found the ground unsteadily again a moment later, knees made of jelly as he struggled to find purchase.

 

“You open up so beautifully for me like this, Cas,” Dean said. Despite the situation, Castiel didn’t have to struggle to hear the affection in Dean’s voice. Even with the Mark Dean was always gentle with him, loving, and Cas would do anything to help him to feel anchored even if it cost him a little blood. He was a warrior anyway, and this pain was different. If anything it was the sting of it, the wound closing more slowly than the others, which stirred his arousal to further heights.

 

As though to reaffirm his point, Dean tilted his face up to look at him, expressing concern as well as hope. “What’s your color, Cas?”

 

“Green,” Castiel said, reflecting the color of Dean’s eyes back at him.

 

Cas shivered as Dean warmed the blade. This time it gave off the sickly sweet smell of burning holy oil, and when Dean was ready, he placed the tip just against Castiel’s ribs and pulled it right around his bicep, slicing a red ribbon into his golden skin. It was a raw biting pain, but a surface pain none the less, and while the holy oil drew the burn out, as though the flame of the candle itself was searing his flesh, the most it did was make Cas whimper and squirm, toes curling in his loafers.

 

Dean’s tongue lathed his skin comfortingly, licking the traces of the oil away, and the wound healed easily in his wake, leaving Cas to tremble, hanging lower in his bondage than before.

 

The next cut was to his collarbone. With this one, Dean lingered, because Castiel shook even after the wound was healed. To reward him, warm lips chased up and down his throat, sucking gently on his sunkissed flesh. Teeth worked under his jaw until Castiel forgot the pain again, chasing forward instinctively with his hips toward a body that was still too far away to touch.

 

Dean chuckled softly and drew away, leaving the hint of a kiss against Cas’ mouth.

 

“We’re almost there. Are you ready?”

 

Cas nodded. This was the hardest part, but it was also the most rewarding, and Dean was always careful. The first time he’d doubted how effective it would be, unsettled by the fact that Dean was determined to use a blade on him at all, but now…

 

Now he waited with strict anticipation as Dean went back to his tools.

 

The angel blade seemed to reflect all the light in the room, silvery in its semblance as divine. Castiel held his breath, waiting, as Dean came back to his side. He waited for the question, even though he anticipated it wholly, ready with his answer and begging desperately with his eyes for Dean to simply know without asking what it was.

 

Dean knew. He wouldn’t be asking otherwise.

 

“What’s your color, Cas?”

 

 _Green._ “Green.”

 

He was shocked at how unsteady his own voice sounded. Dean moved closer, letting the cool, ethereal metal brush against Castiel’s cheek, but leaning in to kiss him fully for the first time since he’d tightened the chains overhead. It took Castiel’s mind off the blade completely, especially when Dean bumped their hips together and rained a shower of sparks down on Castiel’s already electric libido. Only when he was moaning helplessly into Dean’s mouth did Dean drop the blade down, cutting into Castiel’s chest directly.

 

The pain was instant and bracing. Compared to what had come before it, an angel blade cutting into his grace was another thing entirely. Castiel cried out with gusto, and while if this was a torture session he would have been more defiant, biting down on such noises, the truth was that he was making them _for_ Dean as much as he was letting out his own pain.

 

Dean carved the same Enochian letters as he ever did. **RIT**. The sigils were so familiar to Cas now that he knew exactly how much they would hurt by the time Dean finished the last. He trembled fitfully, every nerve on fire, barely able to keep his head up and his knees locked.

 

“You can beg now, Cas.”

 

Castiel didn’t hear the words he said. He could only hope in blind desperation that they were convincing, a stream of “Please”s and “Dean”s that somehow convinced him to make it all better.

 

The word on his chest meant “Mercy”, and Dean took mercy on Cas as he begged, letting the blade clatter as he sank to his knees, tugging down his pants efficiently and engulfing Castiel’s flagging cock with the full heat of his mouth. Dean swallowed him all the way back without second thought.

 

It was always so explosive. The mixture of pain carved into his angelic being and the sudden rush of purely human satisfaction somehow dragged the two sides of sensation together. Castiel bucked his hips against Dean’s firm grip, his pliant and obedient, _loving_ mouth, and in moments he was spilling over, sinking into miraculous _mortal_ orgasm that he felt throughout his angelhood. It was universes taking form and being torn asunder, life being created and destroyed, boundless energy taking one form and another and never dying. Castiel felt it all rush through him, while at the same time he felt grounded, pulled down into this one moment of pure humanity, balls tightening as heat pulsed from him and into Dean, like a crystalline arc; like energy being passed from one being to another, never extinguished. They were both a part of it now.

 

Castiel came back to himself on the floor, wrapped in Dean’s arms, his lover making soft affectionate noises in the back of his throat as he stroked his hair. The pain in his chest was already fading, though the wounds would remain a little longer; that was why Dean had carved only into his chest, rather than anywhere that Sam would see.

 

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked softly, smoothing a thumb across his cheekbone. “Okay?”

 

Castiel nodded. It was all he could do, was all he could manage for a little longer. At least Dean accepted him closer without making much of a fuss, tightening his embrace instinctively.

 

He was wonderful; a wonderful lover, conscientious even after he had ripped Castiel’s essence to pieces. So what if the Mark of Cain was a terrible curse--it had brought them together. For that, at least, Cas was grateful, and if doing this let Dean focus, kept his head clean, then Castiel would bleed every drop of his blood for him and then some.

 

He was always happy to bleed for a Winchester.


	5. Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demon!Dean and unwilling Cas (Part 1 of 3)  
> Next Chapter in sequence is #22: Collaring

Dean tugged firmly on the end of the leash and Cas jerked his chin up, paying attention to the prompting. Black eyes flashed back at him; Dean was in a mercurial mood, and Castiel would have to be stupid to miss the way his lips curled at the edges, anticipating the worst that Dean could dream up almost at once.

 

No, that wasn’t true. Dean was far more creative than Castiel, and his present demonhood only added sadism to the mix. It wouldn’t do to show any hint of weakness.

 

“How you feeling, Cas? Better than yesterday?”

 

Castiel didn’t say a word. He met Dean’s eyes defiantly, and when the demon turned his gaze away it wasn’t just to sweep the room. Crowley’s assorted cronies waited patiently, their attention fixed on Castiel now. He could feel their focus boring into him. They were waiting to find out where Dean’s mood would lead, what new humiliation they’d witness. Rumours of everything that had happened yesterday had been whispered from one to another overnight, and Castiel knew that only worse was yet to come.

 

But he’d won one small gesture in making Dean look away first, and Dean knew it. The next tug on the leash threw Castiel off balance, and a foot fell between his shoulder blades, forcing him to throw up his hands in order to keep from crashing face first into the ground.

 

“I asked you a question.”

 

“Does it matter?” Castiel asked. The challenge in his tone was blatant.

 

“Of course. Do you see anyone else in here that’s as important to me as you are?” As he spoke, Dean’s voice lowered to a gentle tone, and the demon crouched beside him, stroking his fingers tenderly through Castiel’s hair. In another life, the touch would have warmed him to the core, but they had never been that couple. Dean had never wanted him as a man, and as a demon? All he wanted was a plaything.

 

“Do you remember our deal?” Dean asked.

 

Castiel ground his teeth, staring at the square of dirt between his left hand and his right. Of course he remembered the deal. He was the one who’d proposed it. He just hadn’t realized that it would lead to _this_.

 

“Cas?”

 

“I remember,” Castiel ground out, fiercely. “My life for his.”

 

“That’s right. I let Sammy go. I kept up my end of the deal. So now your life belongs to me.”

 

“But not my obedience,” Cas hissed, lifting his chin an inch. It only put his gaze level with the other demons in the room, all of them watching him with a kind of aroused and yet mutually terrified fascination.

 

“Really? Because I can rip up our contract any time, and we both know that not killing Sammy is going to be _really difficult_ with him meddling in all my business.”

 

“You wouldn’t—“

 

“I would. Maybe I didn’t stipulate obedience in the terms, Cas - who would want to? – but if I ask for it, are you really going to deny it to me?”

 

Castiel held his breath. He couldn’t force himself to form an answer, so instead he merely shook his head. He wasn’t going to deny Dean anything. Wasn’t that the problem? If he was content to deny Dean anything then he wouldn’t be following his last mortal wish, protecting Sam no matter what the cost.

 

So far protecting Sam was turning out to be expensive.

 

“Get up,” came the eventual order. Castiel stood, facing off from the dais on which Dean’s throne sat. The demons stirred, shifting uncomfortably as the atmosphere of the room changed.

 

“Now strip.”

 

Cas blinked, surprised, turning his head to look at Dean again. He didn’t say “What?” but he didn’t have to.

 

“I need proof that you’re not just talk, Cas. Strip. It’s no big deal, right? It’s not like it’s really your body.”

 

Maybe that would have been true before Castiel had been human, before experiencing sex, and violation, and humiliation, and shame. But this was just as much his shape now as it had ever been Jimmy’s, and he felt trepidation at exposing himself, particularly on command, and _especially_ in front of a room full of demons.

 

“Or should I go and ask Sam?”

 

As though he hadn’t faltered, Castiel loosened his tie. Dean made a soft approving noise as he continued undressing, taking off everything except the collar around his throat, which Dean had put there yesterday, much to the amusement of his new flock.

 

“Good,” Dean said, humming softly. “You can put the trenchcoat back on, Cas. You’re not quite an angel without it, now, are you?”

 

Resentfully, Cas crouched down, picking up the coat and pulling it back over his shoulders. He had expected the demons to be jeering at him, but they all looked pale and concerned. Of course: it was survival instinct. If Dean could do this to him, then what was to stop him from doing far worse to any of them?

 

“Now come on over here and sit on my lap,” Dean said, tugging on the end of the leash to make his point. “I’ve got a gift for you.”

 

Castiel tried to resist the urge to hunch his shoulders, or pull his coat in to conceal his genitals, hanging limp between his thighs. The misery he felt was enough of a shroud, though, and he followed, wishing – as he settled on Dean’s lap – that he could shake him and beg him to stop. This wasn’t who Dean was. Taking Crowley’s place; killing the former king and sitting in his throne, lording it over the remainders of his demon army… Dean had forgotten who he was, Cas was certain of it.

 

“Bring it in,” Dean called.

 

When the doors to the main hall opened, Castiel felt the presence of another angel, the unmistakable metallic tang of grace that rang in the air like static after a lightning strike. It sharpened his focus, his head swinging around to get a better look from his perch on Dean’s lap. But there was no angel to be seen. Instead a demon carried a mahogany box down the center of the aisle, and presented it to Cas and Dean, kneeling in front of them.

 

“Go ahead, open it.”

 

Dean was talking to him. Cas twisted his head back, stared into green eyes which he so desperately wished still concealed the man he knew.

 

Trepidatious, Castiel opened the box.

 

There was a glass bottle inside, filled nearly to the brim with glowing blue grace. Castiel eyed it suspiciously, not daring to touch it. Was Dean serious? Giving him this kind of power would surely be dangerous for him, wouldn’t it?

 

No--because if Castiel broke the contract between them, Dean would kill his brother. So this - just like making Castiel accept the collar - was just a game. It was a show of his power.

 

Cas wouldn’t touch the bottle, so Dean reached in and took it, calmly opening the stopper with his thumb. Castiel could practically smell the grace in the air—it made him feel sick. It belonged to another angel, an angel who was now probably _dead_ , given Dean’s particular lack of fondness for them. And why?

 

“Can’t have you dying on me. Until we find yours, we’ll have to find other ways to keep you topped up.”

 

“ _Find mine?_ ” Castiel blinked, startled. He felt so lost, two steps behind. Naked in his former friend’s lap but for his coat, in a room full of demons, it was all just a little too much to ask him to process anything more.

 

“Yeah, Cas. If I keep killing angels to keep you whole then sooner or later we’re gonna run out of angels. Metatron said there was some of your grace left, so we’ll find it, okay?”

 

Cas wasn’t sure whether he should be grateful or not. Who knew what harm would be done to him, to the world, if Dean followed through with his promise? But he didn’t want Dean to have to kill every angel in Heaven either. The fact that he was waving another angel’s grace around under his nose as a gift was bad enough. Who was it? Hannah? Joshua? Ben?

 

Tipping the bottle, a whisper of silvery blue grace was emptied out into the cup of Dean’s open palm.

 

Confused, Castiel frowned at him.

 

“Go on. It’s yours, Cas. Take it.”

 

When he lifted his hand to take it, though, Dean lifted the grace away. It was frustrating.

 

“With your tongue.”

 

Of course with his tongue--as though being collared and paraded around like a prize wasn’t bad enough. The demons shifted about, watching him hungrily like sharks in the water.

 

“Dean…”

 

“I’m not asking, Cas.”

 

Green irises were gone when Castiel looked up. Black shone down at him, lips pulled into a mocking smirk. It felt cold and empty, and it made Cas’ chest echo with loss. He dipped his head obediently and lapped his tongue against the warm flat of Dean’s palm. The angel’s grace sought like for like, drawing inside him, but despite the warm familiarity of power it still felt wrong, uncomfortable and shameful wherever it touched his own scant energy.

 

As repulsed as he was, Castiel knew he had to do this. If he died, Dean’s attention would drift elsewhere. The least he could do was outlive Sam, even if it was an agony to do so; even if he had to live through every possible humiliation along the way. He had loved Dean – still loved him – and he would fulfil the promise that he had made to him no matter what he had to endure.

 

“Good boy,” Dean crooned, patting his hair with his other hand in long, crude strokes, as though he were stroking a dog. “There you go.”

 

Dean returned the bottle of grace to the case, waving the kneeling demon off with it. Castiel grimaced as Dean turned his face back up toward him, flinching as the demon drew his thumb across his bottom lip.

 

“Was it good for you too?”

 

“What do you want?” Castiel asked, his voice shaking with his effort to rally his defiance. In the wake of everything he felt off kilter, not sure what to make of any of this.

 

Dean bent closer and Castiel felt his heart leap into his throat. For a moment, it truly seemed as though Dean was leaning in to kiss him - their noses even brushed together, mouths an inch apart – but Dean stopped there, his breath hot and enticing, so close that Cas could hardly stand it.

 

His voice a low, seductive rumble, Dean answered. “You know me so well. What do you think I want?”

 

He dropped his hand onto Castiel’s thigh, rubbing upward, and unwillingly Castiel bent toward his warmth, leaning into an embrace that promised so much. He closed the distance between their mouths eagerly…

 

\--and missed by half a mile as Dean tipped his face away dramatically. Cas fell face first into the throne as Dean stood up, scrambling his own way upright sluggishly after him.

 

He was still two steps behind. Dean was already moving away, laughing openly at him. His new demon subjects laughed too, as Cas stared helplessly after him. It caught up to him what had happened as Dean’s voice carried across the hall in his wake.

 

“Still straight, Cas. Nice try, though.”

 

It was worse than any physical abuse. Cas felt as though Dean’s words had carved the entirety of vital spirit out of him.

 

And shame sank into the vacant space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut. Unwillingly sub!Cas.  
> Listening to Hurts "Somebody to Die For"


	6. Telepathic Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for some whiplash with your kink. i.e. this one is super adorable.  
> Also analingus  
> Once again sub!Dean if you squint

If Castiel were a dog, he’d be a black Labrador.

 

Right now especially, sitting up over Dean with a stupidly goofy grin on his face, bedhair ruffled, flash of white teeth and oceans of blue eyes, he had more in common with an excitable puppy dog than the grim and fierce Angel of the Lord that Dean had come to know (and love).

 

“What’s that look for?”

 

Castiel bent in closer, and Dean held his breath as the angel’s mouth ghosted over his own, knowing the kiss would be retracted the second he responded, but attempting to do so anyway.

 

“Do it again,” Castiel insisted, his voice a low purr to match the contentment Dean saw in his expression.

 

“But people can hear us.”

 

Cas rolled his eyes, sitting back on Dean’s hips and pushing his hand back through his own hair. It made him look even more ravishing.

 

“I’m the only one who can hear you,” Cas chided. “Nobody else will be listening in so long as you remember to call me by name.”

 

Dean dropped his head back, staring up at his angel, this stunning creature that had allowed itself to be drawn into Dean’s orbit. He couldn’t work out why he should be so lucky. He’d never done anything to deserve something so perfect, and Castiel was beautiful as well as thoughtful, helpful on hunts, and _fantastic_ between the sheets. Or on top of them. Or screw the sheets entirely; in the shower, against the refrigerator, in the back seat of the Impala.

 

Licking his lips, Dean closed his eyes.

 

_Dear Castiel who art not in Heaven, will you please kiss me like I’ve never been kissed before._

When he cracked an eye open, Castiel was looking at him sternly.

 

“Did I do it wrong?”

 

“No, I’m just trying to work out how to comply with your wish. Ah.”

 

Dean squinted, confused, as Cas leaned back into him, muscular golden skin slipping against his own as he resettled himself between Dean’s thighs. He opened his legs without question, arching his head up in expectation of Castiel’s mouth closing against his own. Once again, Cas had other ideas. He kissed Dean’s throat, then moved down his chest.

 

“Nice try, but I’ve been kissed like this before, too,” Dean chided, playfully.

 

Cas made a noncommittal noise and kept moving down, making Dean shudder. His cock stood to attention, half hard already by the time Cas brushed his mouth across the top of the shaft. A blowjob was good too; he wasn’t exactly going to complain about that. It didn’t quite fit the “like I’ve never been kissed before” part of his prayer, but so what? Cas’ mouth was a talented furnace of liquid heat, and a welcome conclusion to any act of coupling.

 

Instead of Cas’ mouth, though, the angel wrapped a tight fist around him, stroking upward boldly as his mouth descended yet further. Dean tensed in glorious, focused arousal, body snapping to full attention, Castiel tenderly working first one testicle and then the other between his plump, chapped lips, and against the generous warm width of his tongue. The tension dissolved into a warm liquid feeling, Dean rolling his hips upward, digging his heels into the bed for even the slightest leverage so that he could writhe toward Cas’ mouth.

 

_Dear God in Heaven—_

 

Castiel rose off him, squeezing Dean’s cock hard enough to make lights flash behind his eyes. For a moment he hadn’t realized what he’d done wrong, but Castiel was looking at him admonishingly, and Dean let the blue eyed glare ground him.

 

“Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

 

“Be sure that it doesn’t,” Cas reprimanded. And he waited.

 

_Please, Castiel._

An acknowledging tilt of his head, and then Cas was sinking down again, disappearing between Dean’s thighs, lifting them above his shoulders and then palming at his balls with one firm hand. The other resumed its stroking, and Dean felt fresh arousal lurch into place, coiling insistently in his belly.

 

Just as he thought he was ready to come like this, waiting for Cas to engulf him in his mouth and blow him away, the warm tip of a tongue found his perineum, pressing firmly into it and tearing Dean back from the glorious edge with a rush of rising, burning heat that plunged into every coiling inch of need he had. His cock ached with it, but Dean felt the edge slipping away, even as his heart rushed faster to catch back up.

 

Cas was edging him, and Dean… Yeah. Dean was pretty sure he’d never been kissed like this before.

 

He moaned helplessly as Cas’ thumb squeezed upward on the head of his cock, as his thumb swept over the delicate tip, and as his tongue circled his delicate rim before pressing insistently inside.

 

“Cas— _fuck_.”

 

In his head.

 

_Cas. Fuck, oh fuck. Please don’t stop. Please._

 

Castiel didn’t stop. Any discomfort from the sensation Dean was oblivious to, aware only of the sucking heat and eager thrust of Cas’ tongue, his soft strong hands, everything focused into white heat between his thighs, pushing every single button he didn’t know he had. He lost track of the noises he was making, of the prayers silent and whispered, of the passage of time and the screaming of the bedsprings as he kicked his heels into the mattress.

 

Dean came in wild white heat. Come splashed unnoticed across his belly and chest, and he came down in trembling spirals, embraced by Cas’ gentle hands as he squeezed the last oozing drips of ejaculate from the tip of his softening cock. Dean watched Cas lick it from his fingers as he came up to rest his head on the pillows beside him, a dreamy look in the fine rims of blue that remained of his irises; Cas’ pupils were blown wide, like an eclipse over a sun made of pure blue sky.

 

“My turn?” Dean asked. He might be sleepy, but considering the way Cas looked at him, he was desperate to repay the favor.

 

Cas smiled, and Dean didn’t need prayer or a profound bond to know what his angel wanted—but it helped.


	7. Cock Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third person present tense for this one.  
> Eager sub!Dean  
> Bathroom stall sex

Dean loves Castiel’s cock.

 

It’s stupid, really, how specific that kink is to him. It’s not like anyone ever explained it could be a thing. Like: he adores women’s breasts, but there’s not a specific pair of them that he can’t get enough of, or misses when they’re not there. It’s just a general attraction, like enjoying beefburgers—and God knows he enjoys a good beefburger. But he’s yet to find that one true piece of American Beef that will turn him forever, that will make him worship at the table it sits on, despite efforts to the contrary.

 

That’s how he feels about Cas’ cock.

 

Cas’ cock is prime rib steak. It curls ever so slightly to the left, the thick weight of it bearing down even when fully erect. Soft, it is beautiful and promising, his balls a pendulum against golden, muscular thighs, but Dean only loves it soft because of the promise when he grows hard, when autonomic systems pulse blood down to fill it to its full, glorious eight inches.

 

Castiel is more blessed than average. For a creature that Dean had accused once of being dickless, the truth of the matter is anything but. It’s a gift that keeps on giving.

 

Dean likes the scent of it, much like he likes the scent of every inch of Cas’ body, but his cock is _special_ , and there’s nothing Dean likes more than to press his nose into the thick black curls that arc across Cas’ pubis only to breathe him in deeply through his mouth, sucking the scent back into every cavity so that it’s all he can do to try to think past it.

 

Cas endures the scenting. It’s part of the ritual. The way his hands stroke through Dean’s hair backwards drives him wild, dragging the bristles against the grain while Dean returns the favour, his nose pressing into coarse pubic hairs.

 

Dean is never in a hurry. It wouldn’t do to rush this, wasting the opportunity. It’s rare, these moments where he and Cas are in the same state, never mind able to snatch away the time to have sex. Dean clings to it desperately, aware that at any moment the chance to indulge in this ritual could slip through his fingers. Their lives are dangerous and could come to an end at any moment.

 

So Cas allows it. His blunt nails scratch behind Dean’s ears while he draws back to look at Castiel’s cock again, admiring the way he can almost see the pulse of blood through the darkening veins, the tension in sinew and muscle as it pulls toward its apex. Salivating, it’s all Dean can do to deny himself the taste for long enough to really admire Cas’ dick for all it offers. Jimmy was a worshipful man, and his foreskin is cut, the gleaming glans exposed, glinting with an enticing bead of precome.

 

Dean can’t resist any more. He reaches out to touch, strokes with reverence along the turgid, inviting shaft, feeling Cas throb under the pads of his fingers. And then he bends in and sucks the salty bead away from the tip, spoiling himself by rushing two steps ahead.

 

It’s all he could have wanted it to be. The taste is heady and overwhelming, and he wants to linger so he can drown himself in it, choke down Cas’ gorgeous cock and become the receptacle to his divine seed. Control slips, but Castiel’s words tear his focus away, demanding an answer—demanding that Dean pull back long enough to be able to speak.

 

“You love my cock, don’t you, Dean?”

 

“Yes, Cas.”

 

Dean doesn’t have to say it, it’s all right there in his actions, the devotion in his gaze, but Castiel smiles down at him as he answers anyway.

 

“Then blow me, Dean.”

 

It’s all the command he needs.

 

Taking the opportunity as it’s given, Dean accepts Cas’ cock into his mouth without the slightest preamble, more than eager to have the weight of it on his tongue. He tips forward into eager, questing fingers, but it’s not to earn more of Castiel’s benediction. All he wants is more of him inside, until he’s full of it, until the glorious thick head shoves against the back of his waiting throat and leaves behind the bitter taste of precome everywhere it touches.

 

His moans aren’t for Cas just as much as they are. The desperate, needy noises he makes are made because he’s _desperately needy_ , because Cas’ cock is his to worship, and because the satisfaction of getting what he wants makes his blood boil with arousal. Dean feels it frothing through him, filling him with an urgency that has him twisting his head as he bobs eagerly forward, choosing a rhythm that has him slurping messily every few beats just to keep from drooling on the floor. He can’t do that, can’t waste any of Castiel’s offering, gulping the full flavour of him down before burying his face forward until it hurts, his throat working against the intrusion.

 

Castiel makes a perfect little grunting noise as Dean deep throats him. The sound is everything Dean could have hoped for, and it makes him moan liberally again around Cas’ prick, letting Cas buck his hips and fuck the helpless hole of his mouth until the angel regains his composure. It feels good to be used like this, to be taken, subservient and idolizing as he is, by the god he chose for himself.

 

He wants more. He needs more. Cas needs more too, and he can feel it in the swollen muscle as it glides over his tongue, the essential craving building between them.

 

So Castiel pulls him back by his hair, looks down at him with lust blown eyes, and nods commandingly.

 

If only they’d chosen a bedroom and not a filthy bar bathroom stall for this. There’s not much room to manoeuvre, no way for Dean to have him the way that he truly wants, with Castiel laid on his back naked and glorious and Dean writhing on his cock above him, giving his body in every way he can.

 

Guiding Cas backward instead, Dean reaches past him to put the lid down over the basin, then guides Cas to sit, his pants just about far enough down to leave his cock standing between them. Urgently shucking down his own jeans, Dean grunts as he toes his way out of them, shoving his feet bluntly back into his shoes before they can touch the floor. He’s in such a rush to get out of his clothes that it isn’t until Cas’ hand curls possessively around his dick that Dean even remembers that it’s there, his own erection further from his mind than anything else.

 

Straddling his lap, Dean begins to fish in Cas’ inside pockets. He finds what he wants waiting for him, as usual, tucked in the inside breast pocket of the trenchcoat, just over Cas’ heart. With fingers finally slick with freshly discovered lube, he reaches around himself awkwardly, already trembling badly with need. Cas supports him. He enjoys watching Dean fuck himself with his own fingers far too much to intercede on his behalf, and Dean’s just fine with that, but he wants to worship Cas’ cock with every part of his body, wants Cas inside him _yesterday_ , rather than his shaking, useless fingers.

 

Only when he sinks all the way down on him does Dean begin to relax from his task, head sinking toward Cas’ shoulder, the muscles in his back starting to ooze with satisfaction. But Cas isn’t having any of it. He guides Dean’s face upward, thumbing across his bottom lip fondly, looking straight into Dean’s eyes with unspoken command ringing in the air between them.

 

Comprehending, Dean begins to move his hips. No, not just move—he uses his hole to beg and to worship. He tightens around Cas and pulls upward even though the burn sears the puckered ring. It’s been so long since the last time, and Dean hasn’t been with anyone else; can’t ever be with anyone else again.

 

Muscle wringing at Cas’ perfect cock, Dean focuses wholly on his lover’s pleasure, though he only listens to Castiel’s ragged breathing, more focused on looking down between their bodies, and wishing fervently that he could pull his own cock aside far enough to see every inch of Cas as his dick slides home inside him. He can only make do with as much as he can see between thrusts, dark purple now, throbbing, slick with lube and saliva. It makes Dean pant with his own desperate need, his own cock still in Cas’ fist, which is pumping him loosely in time with each roll of Dean’s hips.

 

It kills him to watch, but he does it anyway, and soon he’s keening in desperation, trying to hold back on his own orgasm long enough to wring Cas dry as the angel pulses seed inside him. Dean imagines he feels it going deep, like a blade of come piercing him with the power of Cas’ ejaculation. With a sob he keeps moving, hips working even as Cas grows soft, but the angel doesn’t try to stop him. Cas knows that all Dean wants - and wants desperately – is to come on his cock.

 

He does. It’s merciless and almost painful, his meagre offering splattering into Cas’ waiting palm, before hot and sweat-suffocated, a broken man, Dean sinks down against his chest, shaking all over from the effort.

 

Cas’ beautiful cock is twitching inside him even then, and Dean whimpers, drags his cheek against Cas’ throat, moans against his skin. He loves it. He loves Cas’ dick. He loves the man who owns it. Worshipping one is just his way of being allowed to worship the other, the only way that Cas will accept it, unable to see himself as worthy in any other way.

 

But Sam is waiting for them outside in the parking lot, two cars about to go their separate ways, and Dean doesn’t know when they’ll get to do this again.

 

He presses a kiss to Cas’ jaw, then finally gains the strength to kiss him on the mouth, swallowing the angel’s breath, then exhaling it against his only too mortal lips.

 

“I love you,” he tells him.

 

Cas strokes his cheek. He hasn’t told Dean that he loves him too, yet, maybe isn’t even sure that what he’s feeling _is_ love, but Dean knows that when Cas is sure, the words will come. He’s waiting for them.

 

One day.

 

He just hopes it isn’t too late.


	8. Roleplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special warning for rape fantasy in this chapter.  
> Sub!Dean

Dean slowed the Impala to a crawl, taking care as he pulled over onto the hard shoulder. They were in the middle of nowhere. Arizona at night had a chill to it, eerily empty in every direction with nothing but the thin sliver of moon and the thick, wide beams of the Lincoln’s headlights to provide any kind of variation to the scenery.

 

He stayed in the car, listening to the radio whistle as it struggled to cling to the hard rock station he’d picked up in San Francisco (a desperate and ultimately futile attempt.) When he checked the mirror, the cop who’d pulled him over was circling the back of the Impala, the badge at his hip catching the red glow from the tail lights.

 

“Place your hands on the wheel, please,” came the command. The cop’s voice was pleasant, with an edge of gravel. Dean had to struggle not to let the timbre go straight to his cock.

 

It went there anyway.

 

In the stark light he couldn’t see the cop’s face. --Even less so when a high wattage torch flashed straight into his eyes, temporarily blinding him.

 

“Could you turn off the engine? And the radio, sir.”

 

“You sure you don’t want a little mood music?” Dean answered, dropping his hand to the key and turning it back toward him. The Impala’s rumble stuttered to a stop, and a peculiar rattle warned Dean that he needed to check the seals on the carburettor.

 

“The radio,” the voice said again, more sternly this time. Dean reached across and turned it off, his heart in his throat.

 

“License and registration.”

 

These Dean had ready, reaching up to the sun visor to take them down. If he kept them in his glove box with his berretta, he was only going to get himself shot when he got stopped, and with the way he drove that happened quite a lot. He’d been speeding tonight, eager to get the state in his rearview. This wasn’t any kind of novelty. Speaking of novelty: some cops just wanted a better look at Baby, and who could blame them?

 

“Here you go,” he said, passing them over.

 

“Mr…William Dean. Well, Mr. Dean. Would you mind stepping out of the car for a moment? I’d like to show you something.”

 

Dean shrugged, stepping out of the car. The officer moved out of the way so that the door could swing wide. Dean turned to get a look at his face in the glow from the headlights, but the cop tilted his face down, throwing it deliberately into shadow.

 

The cop followed him around to the back of the Impala. Dean tipped his head, hunting for broken tail lights instinctively.

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

“It’s the glass. Take a closer look.”

 

The cop reached across the trunk, tapping the window, so Dean bent across to take a closer look. The moment he did, a firm body pressed against his ass, grinding his hips down and trapping his rapidly stirring erection against Baby’s waxed surface. Dean huffed out a startled breath, flattening his palms in front of him and pushing back.

 

“Alright there, Officer Frisky. You not getting laid at home?”

 

Dean grunted, shoving backward harder, only to wince as his left arm was pinioned round from underneath him. His right hand unbalanced, shoulder crashing into the trunk, along with half his face, and Dean growled and twisted, trying to wrestle his way free.

 

“You’re resisting arrest,” the officer purred, dropping his weight against Dean’s. “I’m going to have to use force.”

 

“You’re arresting me?” Dean spat, struggling harder, but only – it seemed – making Officer Frisky that much harder. “What the hell for!?”

 

“For being so hot it ought to be illegal,” came the reply, along with cool metal across his wrist and the sound of a cuff snapping closed. Dean knew what was coming next, but there was no way for him to fight it from this position, his other hand pinioned back and snapped into the other cuff.

 

Grunting, Dean lay chest first down on Baby’s trunk, unable to resist as the cop’s hands patted down his side, scoping his ass. A moment later, Dean’s second gun, the one he kept in the back of his jeans, was placed on the trunk beside him.

 

“I don’t suppose this is the only concealed weapon you’re carrying, is it?”

 

“You didn’t ask,” Dean told him.

 

“And you didn’t declare,” said the officer, humming as he groped between Dean’s thighs, spreading his legs wider. Dean panted as fingers squeezed his erection brutally through the denim of his jeans.

 

“That feels like another gun to me.”

 

Dean knew what came next. The cop wrestled his hips back, and then went for his fly, undoing it with brisk, agile fingers, and tugging his jeans and underwear down past his hips. His cock sprang free, and then was immediately crushed against the Impala’s bodywork as Officer Way Too Friendly ground against his bare ass.

 

“Please…” Dean whimpered. It was merciless. He tried to breathe, listening hard to the sound of the other man’s breathing, and then, cutting through the air like the loudest sound he’d ever heard, a zipper being pulled.

 

“You can’t—“ Dean grimaced. Something slid firm and velvety into his prone left hand, and he tightened his fingers as best he could around it. “Okay. Okay, I… Nngh…”

 

He trailed off, shivering as wet fingers slipped between the cheeks of his ass, at once spreading him wider before two slid home at once, making him grunt out loud. “ _Fuck.”_

 

The officer didn’t hold back. He fucked Dean roughly with his fingers, occasionally bucking his hips so that his cock slid between Dean’s open palms. Two fingers became three, and then four, until he was fucking Dean down past the knuckles, making him sob with need, precariously shoulder crawling up the back of the Impala to get away from the pressure between his thighs while his weeping cock left smudges of precome in its wake.

 

“You ready?” the officer breathed, pulling his hand out. Dean was so lost, his brain starved of oxygen for half the breaths he’d forgotten, that he didn’t know what he was supposed to be ready for. “Mr. Dean? _Dean?_ ”

 

“Do it,” he grunted. “Just do it.”

 

The cop filled him with a single smooth jerk of his hips, and Dean moaned, curling his chin in toward his chest, wringing his fingers helplessly in his cuffs.

 

“Fuck me, officer,” Dean panted. “Fuck me. God, please. _Please._ ”

 

Castiel complied.


	9. Lingerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S6 + Voyeurism  
> No tops or bottoms, just masturbation

Castiel didn’t just watch Dean rake leaves.

 

He thought he might be able to find some answer, some solution, by watching the only human he’d ever truly cared about express his free will. But Dean did things that confused him.

 

Oh, _it made sense_ that he went to Lisa and Ben. Castiel saw how good he was with them; it was all he could have wanted for Dean, even if there was a pang in his gut that went with it, something confusing and unfamiliar. Castiel knew he was experiencing emotions because the other angels had warned him about them, but it was another thing entirely to work out what those emotions were.

 

What confused him – just a little - was the fact that Dean stopped hunting without his brother. Castiel knew that bad things were still happening in the world. There was Raphael, for one thing, demons and monsters uncountable, and while Dean had lost everything, there was always something else to lose.

 

There was also something so very final about the way he covered his beloved Impala with a sheet, as though she were something dead, left alone in the dark to be forgotten, a part of his existence now forever carved out.

 

Piece by piece, Castiel watched him shut out the things that made Dean who he’d been before, instead becoming this other version of Dean Winchester who listened to country music in the car and worked construction 9-5, a man who sat and ate dinner with his family – and yes, a man who was completely devoted to the woman and her child who had taken him in, but a shadow of his former self none the less.

 

He watched him, silent and invisible, as he went through parts of each dreary Sam-less day like a shell of his former self, his bright spark of a soul still very much there, but dulled by the shape it wore.

 

One day, when Lisa and Ben were out on some sort of pre-arranged Mommy and Kid event, Castiel spent almost the entire day following Dean around the empty house, watched him catch up episodes of Doctor Sexy that he’d missed, sipping beer in his underwear, following him when he head resolutely up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with Lisa.

 

It still wasn’t his home by any means. There were some clothes there, a set of keys, the odd book about classic cars, but it wasn’t Dean’s. Cas watched him go through the drawers on the hunt for something, frowning in concern as he laid out three different pairs of panties on the dresser.

 

Castiel watched him choose between them, unaware that he was holding his breath. It wasn’t as though Dean could see him, never mind hear him.

 

Ultimately, Dean chose lurid pink and white lace. The lace formed the shape of a rose on the front, thinned to almost nothing at the back, then rose high over his hips in gorgeous arches. Castiel knew, because Dean slipped out of his own boxers and pulled the panties on, his hands visibly shaking in excitement.

 

When he turned on his heel and leaned against the dresser to examine himself, Castiel saw that he was already half hard beneath the thin lace, his cock stretching the fabric away from his skin. Dean let his thumb disappear into the space between his thigh and elastic, and at once his cock jumped higher. Castiel could smell his arousal now, the musk thick and heavy, filling the room with overwhelming need.

 

From his place at the end of the bed, he stood and watched unseen as Dean went back to digging in the drawers, finding what he wanted tucked right at the back. Castiel stood, a monolith, as Dean clambered onto the bed without preamble, tucking the heap of pillows and cushions in behind him so that he could sit up and watch himself, spreading his legs wide so that Castiel could see the full glory of him.

 

His own arousal was impossible to miss, but Cas still had no idea what to do with the rush of blood between his own thighs, at least until Dean reached down and readjusted himself under the lace, his eyelids fluttering, his freckles turning darker, his moist lips parting just far enough to breathe out a shaky sigh.

 

Cas swallowed. Unable to help himself as he watched Dean palm his own cock, he loosened the fly of his own pants and reached inside, digging his erection out through far too much fabric. It leaked into his palm the moment he touched it, and Cas staggered for something to lean against, hating that he had to put space between himself and Dean to sink into the chair beside the window. If only he could pull the chair closer…

 

As Dean stroked, he pulled the head of his cock past the delicate waistband of the panties. It was almost dark red, starkly contrasting both Dean’s paler hand and the frilly lace. Castiel watched as a bead of precome oozed from the tip and Dean swiped it with his thumb, the muscles in his thighs trembling in turn.

 

Castiel began to mirror the movements, using the way that Dean’s hands moved to guide how his own should. He became breathless quickly, heat moving in wicked waves under his skin as he watched Dean’s hips buck and undulate toward his palm, and felt his own twitch and snap, eager to do the same.

 

Then Dean went where Cas couldn’t follow. With his left hand, he turned on Lisa’s vibrator, and nudged it down between his own thighs, rubbing the vibrating head up and down over the lace that bisected his testicles and barely covered his taint.

 

How he looked, just like that, worshipping at the temple of his own body and surrounded by pillows, was more than Castiel – with his lack of experience - could take. He moaned helplessly as white heat rushed through him, pulsing into his fist, messily splashing come on the carpet between himself and the bed, and sank bonelessly down into the chair, unable to move or even think. The world ceased to exist, and he missed the conclusion of whatever Dean was doing, lost completely in the sensation that hummed through his own body, the throbbing between his thighs that seemed like it would go on forever.

 

Movement disturbed him. Dean was standing at the end of the bed, tugging the panties off the end of his feet, his hands sticky with the outcome of his own activities. When he put down one foot he flinched, lifting it up again and grimacing, hopping backward to the edge of the bed where he sank with a creak on his bare ass. He stared at the bottom of his foot, swiped his finger across it, then brought it to his nose to sniff.

 

Drowsily Castiel stared across at him, unable to do much to intercede. He knew what it was that Dean had stepped in. Any moment now he’d realize he had an invisible voyeur…

 

But Dean just scoffed, and looked back at the bed, clearly impressed with his own range rather than suspecting anything untoward. “Yeah,” he said, with a grin. “I’ve still got it.”


	10. Fucking Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Master/Slave, Bottom!Cas

When Dean had suggested to him that night that he couldn’t possibly die a virgin, Castiel had never expected that the consequences of it would lead him here, waiting blindfolded and naked on his knees, the sound of conversation a gentle hum around him. It was familiar and comfortable, though. He’d grown used to it, even come to look forward to it, the obsolescence of his angelic powers in the wake of another kind of submission something that he found he craved, and always knowing that he could end these engagements with a word if he needed to, but with violence if he had to.

 

His master never gave him reason to stop him, never betrayed the trust that Castiel placed in his hands every time he let him place the leather collar about his throat.

 

It always began this way. He would kneel on his cushion in a thoroughfare or in the main play room, and people would move around him, talk about him, discuss the weather or sport, but never touch him. With nothing to focus on but the sound of their voices, Castiel could almost let himself forget that he was naked, or that he was an angel. It was relaxing, and so _he relaxed_ , his shoulders and neck softening as he let the world go by without remark.

 

And then a soft voice would speak his name “Castiel”, and a warm, rough palm would slide over his left shoulder, and his master would be right by his side, a warm presence for Cas to lean toward.

 

“Hey sweetheart,” the voice would purr, with love only for him in every syllable. “You ready to play?”

 

Castiel licked his lips, always dry, and nodded. After that it was a simple enough thing to obey the pull of the leash at his throat, urging him up to his feet. He’d learned to follow the gentlest prompting tugs as directions after his master had told him off for following in his footsteps unnaturally, as though he could see him through the blindfold.

 

They left the noise of the main playroom. Apprehension took seat in his belly at once: when they left the playroom their scenes were always much more intense, and consequently private. His master was going to visit something new--or perhaps one of those familiar places which made Cas scream with desire and beg to come. Either would be fine. His cock, which hadn’t so much as twitched in the last hour, responded valiantly to the thought, and immediately the slightest tap of a crop reminded Castiel that he hadn’t been given permission to become aroused yet.

 

Without any visual clues, it was angelic senses alone that told him that he was in the center of the room. His master tapped the back of his knees with the end of his crop, and Castiel kneeled at once. There was a rough surface beneath him with a slightly bevelled feeling to it; made of rubber, without a doubt so that it could be easily washed clean.

 

“There you go. That’s good. There’s a sausage shaped pillow in front of you. I want you to put your elbows on it, shoulder width apart.”

 

The calm, authoritative voice of his master guided Castiel through the actions, lowering himself down toward the floor. Halfway, he discovered a broad plate, leather covered, projected from the ground to support his weight. He placed his arms on the cushion as ordered and his dom’s firm grip took each wrist in turn, and closed it under a lever of polished wood. Castiel could smell the linseed oil that had been rubbed into it, aromatic where it warmed against his skin.

 

When each wrist was secure inside the stockade, a hand guided his head down yet further, until the snap of metal sounded underneath him, and Cas found himself held down by the D-ring on his collar, ass in the air. There was some flexion in the connection; a certain heavy elasticity, and Cas tested it for a moment, listening to the dull sound of chain wrapped in vinyl.

 

Another rush of arousal tried to drown him.

 

His master dragged the flat end of his crop across Cas’ buttocks, drawing his attention back, focusing Castiel on the one point of connection between them. As soon as he did, the crop drew back, only to land with force across his cheeks. Cas gasped, and spread his legs wider as if on cue, begging with a roll of his hips for more. A sigh from above him told him that his master was surrendering to the inevitable. Cas was going to get hard, and even the crop wasn’t going to dissuade his erection.

 

“I’m going to restrain your ankles now.”

 

Castiel didn’t make a sound, but he was patient as his master restrained each ankle as he had his wrists. Prone, now, Castiel waited, a tremor running up and down his spine, until firm fingers wound down between his thighs, stroking his balls tenderly, then squeezing at the base of his cock.

 

“There you go, getting hard for me. Good boy.”

 

Castiel moaned, and his master squeezed once more before taking his hand away. If not for the support under his diaphragm, Castiel’s knees might have given out under him.

 

Waiting, hard and now hypersensitive to everything around him, Castiel knew well in advance that lube-slick fingers were going to slide against his spread cheeks. If it wasn’t for the position, he’d have guessed it from the sound of the lid popping, and the scent of chemical-sweet sex in the air, as familiar to him as the apple-pie scent of his master’s skin. Those fingers found their home within him, but there was no effort to please him, only a brisk, businesslike efficiency in stretching him wide and dripping wet.

 

The anticipation held as the fingers slipped away, but now Castiel was desperately wanting, aware of the heaviness of his breath with the way his own weight, held down by the chain at his throat, increased the pressure across his chest. There was no dragging his focus away from his hole, though, twitching with need in the desperately cool air as he soundlessly begged to be penetrated again.

 

It came in the unexpected form of a bulbous silicon head nudged against him. Castiel flinched. His master grounded him with damp fingers tracking against his hip.

 

“Easy. It’s a perfect replica of mine. I had it made for you. I want to be the only man who ever fucks you, baby. Now just let me in. Relax.”

 

The dildo slid into place easily. Castiel accepted it, willed it so. It did feel like his master’s cock, even if it was a little cold and alien to begin with, slick with lube, it warmed easily to body temperature as his master came to kneel in front of him.

 

Castiel waited. The scent of sex and arousal, lube, linseed and leather was everywhere now. He could smell it on the man in front of him, the heat of his naked body, the scent of him unique: gun oil and sandalwood and sweet pie filling, and beneath it all the musk of arousal that had him salivating, rocking forward and finding the dildo inside him slipping an inch as he did.

 

Fingers sliding through his hair soothingly, his master chuckled as he readjusted his hips, guiding Castiel’s face upward. Firm and unyielding, a thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth, guiding it open, before the bitter head of his cock, so familiar that Cas knew every inch of it, popped easily into his waiting mouth.

 

When he was settled the fingers in his hair tightened briefly. Castiel tensed with them and, taking on a life of its own, the dildo that was buried in his ass began to move.

 

Cas moaned around the very real cock in his mouth, helpless to the sudden wicked burn of sensation that knifed up his spine when the fucking began. It was rigid, but not unrealistic, slow and steady at first, but quickly picking up pace, striking home in all the places that typically sent showers of sparks into his extremities.

 

For all that Castiel thrived on pleasing the man whose dick he was sucking, for a moment he simply couldn’t think to try. It was all he could do not to accidentally bite down, instead moaning and whimpering and panting around the heavy weight of him as he was fucked by either despicable magic or human ingenuity. After a moment of getting nothing but nonsense noises out of him, his master – leaking precome like he was a broken faucet – gave up on waiting, and dropped one hand to the back of his neck, the other to his jaw, holding him in a safe and firm position so that he could shallowly fuck his mouth.

 

Pierced from both ends, writhing helplessly in his bonds to somehow engage more and somehow escape at the same time, Castiel didn’t – couldn’t – resist. He didn’t _need_ to breathe, strictly speaking, but he moaned and panted around his master’s cock anyway, insensitive to the possibility of sucking for any purpose more grand than not choking on his own saliva.

 

When his master’s grip inexplicably tightened, Castiel knew what was coming, barely flinching as the mushrooming head of the cock in his mouth slammed back into his throat just as deep as it could go, splashing ropey seed into his waiting throat. He moaned, gratefully, as the other man slipped his cock out just as quickly, leaving one last pulse on his tongue. His master didn’t pull away. He rubbed the wet, pulsing shaft against his cheeks, and into his hair, and cooed soft words that Castiel didn’t hear, but which he assumed were praise.

 

Castiel came untouched after almost five more minutes of brutal, mechanical fucking, and only when Dean had tried out every possible speed and setting.


	11. Sadism/Masochism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a tiny one this time because my DCBB posts today!  
> No sex just consensual violence, and a punch in the gut at the end.

There was nobody that Dean trusted more. Well, nobody he wasn’t directly related to, anyway. It made perfect sense to give himself this when Sammy wasn’t looking, secure in the knowledge that if Castiel ever hurt him – really hurt him – he could make it all go away with just a touch.

 

Not that Dean wanted it to be that easy.

 

They met in the quiet of deepest night and drove, always to somewhere quiet and abandoned, Dean in a haze of thought. These days his misery clung to him consciously and unconsciously; everything was tainted by what had come before, until all he could hope for was an escape from it even for a moment. Castiel helped his mind to drift, for thoughts to stop taking on quite so much meaning.

 

Dean always bolted out of the car and opened the door for him, his hands shaking as he pressed the keys into Castiel’s outstretched palm, before heading off to find a way into their chosen venue.

 

Cas took a little longer to join him, but Dean was always patient, even if the buzz under the skin left much to be desired. He hummed with the need to break free from himself entirely.

 

Castiel used weapons from the trunk exclusively. All the things that Dean had used on monsters were used on the only monster he could never kill; the blades and guns and chains with sharp teeth in them; the mace, one time. He added other things when the whimsy occurred to him, tucking them away where only Castiel would look; paddles and whips, brutal collars with barbs on the inside.

 

Cas never questioned his need. His pitying looks, when Dean did catch them through the wash of blood were always more fuel on the flame of Dean’s self hatred.

 

But when the pain was enough, and the buzz had receded, obliterated by misery and agony, warm arms wrapped tenderly around him, gathered him closer. He drifted into a haze of sleep in his own bed, clinging to a fantasy that never happened – would never happen - but which he wrought for himself every night just to bring focus to his torment.

 

This was the only way that he could bring himself to even contemplate sleeping, knowing what he’d done; what he hadn’t said; a routine narrative that let Dean find peace with his self loathing for the space of time it took to drift into unconsciousness.

 

He slept at last--but Castiel was still dead, and it was still his fault.


	12. Hand-jobs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is in the back seat oblivious, as per the Biggerson's scene in Chapter 3.

When Dean glanced in the rear view mirror, he was, it had to be said, _extremely_ happy to see Sam sleeping like a baby, his head buried in his tote bag and his hair askew.

 

“You really shouldn’t read that,” he said, his voice low, to the angel riding shotgun.

 

Castiel looked at him balefully. “I am infinitely older than you are,” he told him, keeping his voice a mirror to Dean’s sepulcher tone. “Older than pornography, older even than sex. Besides, I can’t imagine there’s anything here that I haven’t seen before.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and looked back at the road, trying not to flinch every time Cas rustled the pages he was turning.

 

“Hm.”

 

Dean glanced across at him, most of his attention still on the road. “Hm?”

 

“I didn’t expect the articles to be so fascinating. This woman claims that she has sex with a different man every week. I can’t imagine that’s easy—or healthy.”

 

“Sure it is,” Dean breathed. “So long as she uses protection and gets regular check ups.”

 

“It still seems unlikely to me. You humans exert so much effort on pretending you’re not attracted to each other, I can’t imagine her having so much success.”

 

“Some people just have lower standards,” Dean answered, unthinkingly. Once he’d spoken he wished he could take it back, because Cas’ gaze burned fiercely into the side of his neck for at least two minutes after that. Blessedly, he turned back to his magazine, and Dean was left to his silent driving. God, how he wished he had different reading material in the front seat; maybe a copy of _Vogue_ or _Teen_ magazine; anything _but_ the latest _Busty Asian Beauties_.

 

Another rustle drew his attention. Castiel had inched the magazine back and was looking down into his lap, frowning at what Dean could tell - irregardless of the dim road lighting - was one hell of an erection.

 

Dean watched Cas try to ignore it, going back to his reading, but he began to look more and more uncomfortable, shifting his feet, curling his fingers tighter and tighter around the edge of the magazine. Obviously just ignoring it wasn’t going to make it go away, especially considering the opening centrefold in front of him.

 

Dean checked the mirror again. Sam was still deep in slumber.

 

“Look,” he said, as quietly as possible. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but why don’t you just deal with it. I promise I won’t look.”

 

Castiel glanced up at him just as Dean looked over, and for an awkward moment their eyes caught. Dean snapped his attention right back like he’d been burned.

 

“I don’t know how,” Cas said bluntly, when Dean was looking back at the road again. “Could you help me?”

 

It took all his control just to keep the Impala comfortably straight. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Sam up _now_.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

Cas began to shift along the bench toward him, lowering the magazine to one side.

 

“Please, Dean. I can’t take it any more.”

 

“I’m a little busy here,” Dean said, faltering, grabbing for any possible way out of this. He could have just said “No, buddies don’t do that for each other,” but somehow the words wouldn’t come.

 

“You drive one handed all the time. All I’m asking for is one… _one_ hand. Please.”

 

Dean looked at the mirror one last time, then into Cas’ wide eyed, pleading face. He was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, his lips plush, pink and chewed. Dean knew how he felt. Dicks were unforgivable like that. And the idea that Cas didn’t even know how to get himself off was sort of sad, like a puppy that couldn’t lick it’s brand new balls.

 

“Alright. Okay. _Okay_. One time, though. After this you have to do it yourself.”

 

Now it was Dean’s turn to blush all the way up to his ears. He could _feel_ Castiel’s relief beside him. Nervously, Dean dropped his hand off the wheel, setting it on Cas’ thigh, brushing his coat back out of the way. God, he was _terrified_. People weren’t supposed to do this kind of thing, were they? What part? What part of giving handjobs to only-friends angels in moving cars while your little brother slept in the backseat was the weirdest part? Dean didn’t know.

 

Castiel shifted his hips, but otherwise made no effort to help Dean out. His hands curled in the edges of his coat, splayed to either side of his hips, while Dean blindly felt out the fastenings of his zipper in the dark. It wasn’t so hard. He just pretended it was his own, and it was easy to work out what went where. If he tried hard enough, too, he could almost pretend it wasn’t Castiel’s fly at all.

 

Was he seriously doing this?

 

He rushed back down to ground level as Cas let out a shaky breath beside him, hips twitching toward Dean’s hand, prominent bulge swollen, hot against his palm. Dean grimaced, feeling out the shape of him through them, gripping the wheel slightly tighter in his other hand. There were smaller buttons down the front of Cas’ boxers, and the moment Dean plucked them open, his cock sprang into his palm like it was springloaded.

 

There was no getting round it now. He was holding Castiel’s dick in one hand, driving with the other, and—

 

Sam let out a loud snore behind them, and Dean froze, studying the mirror fiercely for any sign that Sam had woken himself up with his unearthly noises.

 

A gentle follow up snore proved otherwise.

 

And here he was, still sitting there with Cas’ cock in his hand, the angel waiting expectantly on the seat beside him.

 

“Dean, please…”

 

“Just keep a lid on it, okay? Relax. Enjoy it a little.”

 

Castiel nodded, soundlessly, and tried to really choke his noises down. In return Dean began to move his fist, starting out slow so that Cas could get used to the feeling.

 

“It’s okay,” Dean said, concentrating as hard as he could on the road ahead. It was nice and straight, with almost no traffic coming in the other direction, but he still pulled a little further over than he needed to when a truck overtook them. Maybe he _was_ driving a little slow.

 

Still, better safe than sorry, and the slower speed gave him the chance to look over at the man beside him, watching Cas drop his head back, his throat working, lips parted, as he seemed to try to do everything he could to keep from making loud noises. He panted, arched backward, his chest rising and falling with every breath. Despite his best efforts, Dean looked down, and Cas’ cock greeted him, wrapped up tight in his hand as Dean squeezed and stroked, leaking generously over his curled fingers.

 

It had Dean catching his breath too, a prickle of mutual arousal coiling between his thighs.

 

Cas, bless him, began to writhe even more desperately, clutching at the seat beside him, grabbing at the dash, then at the seat over his shoulder, the roof behind his head. As Dean beat faster, Castiel squirmed, and his noises became just a little less controlled, filling the car with earnest breaths and heartbreaking whimpers.

 

When he spasmed, Dean took his eyes off the road again to watch his cock pulse, and glanced at his face caught in blissful orgasm. Cas’ hands finally fell into his lap, wrapping around Dean’s fist, squeezing it tighter, and Dean grinned to himself and looked away again. Sure, Cas had made a bloody mess everywhere, but it was nothing he wouldn’t be able to clean up.

 

Dean checked the mirror, relieved to discover that Sam was still sleeping. Thank God for small mercies. With the way that Cas was snuggling up to him in the afterglow, Dean had to wonder if things he’d resisted changing weren’t beginning to do just that. You couldn’t give your angel friend a handjob and expect him to be content just being a friend. There was no way to stop him from wanting to reciprocate, either, cooing in Dean’s ear as he slipped one hand between Dean’s thighs.

 

“If I’d known all I had to do was ask,” Cas purred, nipping at his ear, “I’d have done this years ago. Thank you, Dean.”

 

Dean shivered, hips twitching as Cas worked his fingers remarkably deftly across his cock, already freed and straining into the angel’s surprisingly clever palm. Was it possible? Had he just been played?

 

Did he care?

 

Not much—just so long as Sam didn’t wake up any time soon.


	13. Medical Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this one so it's just about passable as Doctor + Patient.  
> Warnings for toe sucking/foot fetish.  
> Top!Dean

Dean looked at Castiel across the table.

 

“You did what?”

 

“I stubbed my toe.”

 

“You stubbed your toe.” Dean weighed the words on his tongue. He never thought he’d hear anything like it.

 

“Please. I don’t know how to fix it.”

 

As though Dean had the answer to that! A stubbed toe was a stubbed toe. But a former angel who’d never experienced it before was another matter entirely. Cas looked so forlorn, and even if Dean didn’t know how to make it feel better, Dean couldn’t help himself. He’d entertain Cas’ need to be fixed…while at the same time entertaining himself.

 

“Alright. Shoes and socks off, Cas. Sit on the table.” He patted in front of him, then stood, fetching the medical kit from the kitchen (not where it was most used around here, but the most dangerous place in the home if wikipedia was to be believed).

 

He sat in front of Cas, looking at the so-serious face of his lover, smirking at him. Cas must have guessed something was up at that point, because he said “Is something funny?”

 

“No. No, nothing’s funny. It just occurred to me I’ve never really looked at your feet.”

 

“Usually your attention is somewhat higher up.”

 

His grin widened. “Yeah, little bit.”

 

“My toe hurts,” Cas protested, and Dean nodded, turning his attention down.

 

Cas’ toe was definitely swollen, pink and throbbing. Dean knew the feeling well. His toenails were also too long. Dean rolled his eyes at him.

 

“These grow, you know. Now that you’re human you’re supposed to file them. I’ll show you how. For now we’re just going to cut them a little shorter with scissors.”

 

Dean rubbed his hand upward, stroking Cas’ foot gently, and held it firmly as he went to work with the scissors. Once he was done, he assessed and cut the toenails of the other, squinting up at Cas the whole time.

 

“This doesn’t feel like it’s helping.”

 

“You’re right. Well what if I kiss it better?”

 

“You can do that?” Cas seemed uncertain.

 

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

 

Dean pushed his chair back a little further, so that he could lift Cas’ foot up to eye level. He soothed his fingertips up around Cas’ heel, stroked his thumb across his ankle bone, then bent down and brushed his lips against the swollen toe in the lightest kiss.

 

Cas looked right back at him.

 

“Any luck?”

 

“Dean, I… No.”

 

Dean frowned down at Cas’ foot. “That’s too bad. Maybe I’m just not doing it right.”

 

“Is this truly a medical practice? Dean…”

 

“Doctor Dean, Cas. And I wouldn’t dream of doing any of this if I didn’t really, truly think it would make you feel better. It’s quite an invasive procedure.”

 

Cas hesitated, then nodded. Dean, in turn, sucked Cas’ big toe into his mouth, and gave it a good hard suck. Sure enough, it made Castiel squirm around, at once desperate for escape and unable to help from getting turned on.

 

“Dean, I don’t think—Dean…”

 

Cas was aroused by the time that Dean finished sucking on his toes. He grinned at him, then shifted out of his chair, lowering Cas’ feet toward the ground as he went. His hand slipped between the former angel’s thighs, and at once his legs spread wider invitingly.

 

“You seem to be having an adverse reaction to the procedure,” he breathed, bending in closer, licking his way up Cas’ throat.

 

“I don’t…um.”

 

Dean breathed into his ear. “Trust me, I’m a doctor. Just relax, I’ll release some of the pressure and you’ll feel much better.”

 

Cas whimpered. Dean opened his fly and slid his hand inside, shoving up the tails of his shirt out of the way so that he could get a better grip on Cas’ growing erection.

 

“I don’t believe this is strictly ethic—ethical, Dea— _Doctor_.”

 

“Is your toe feeling better?”

 

Cas moaned as Dean squeezed on his cock, the most gorgeous breathy sound as he tumbled the rest of the way back on the table.

 

“I’m going to have to insist that you answer me,” he prompted, again squeezing so that Cas struggled to answer.

 

Of course his toe felt better. Dean had to guess that, in fact, Cas couldn’t feel anything else much than his own erection in Dean’s hand, and how good those squeezes felt.

 

“The treatment…mm. Seems effective.”

 

Dean slotted himself between Cas’ thighs, grinding up against him. “Still. While you’re here there’s no reason why we can’t give you a thorough check up. How long has it been since your last prostate exam?”

 

Another one of those gorgeous whimpers, and Cas’ legs locked around him, his head stretching back as he arched his neck. Dean kissed it affectionately, dragged his teeth across Cas’ Adam’s Apple and smiled against his skin as he rumbled another moan.

 

“Too long,” Cas agreed. “Please, Doctor. It’s too hard.”

 

“You bet it is.”


	14. Sensory Deprivation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No subs or doms only bums.

“You can’t see me like this, Dean. It’s important that you aren’t tempted to try. Do you understand?”

 

They’d reached a point of no return. Dean knew it. But it was another thing entirely to put his faith and his life into Castiel’s hands like this. There were several layers of blindfolds wrapped around his head, just in case, and for a while they’d discussed tying his wrists as well.

 

But if Dean couldn’t see, then he wanted to feel. He needed to.

 

“I got it, Cas. I promise. I trust you not to burn my eyes out, so just trust me that I’m not going to take the blindfold off, okay? _Trust me._ ”

 

“I trust you.”

 

Dean wasn’t sure he believed him, but that was fine. Cas _wanted_ to trust him. It had to be enough.

 

He waited, nervous. After a moment, Cas placed a hand on his wrist, and Dean let Cas guide it upward. Anticipation gripped him, right up until the point where his fingers brushed against something warm and fluffy.

 

“Is that…?”

 

“Yes,” Cas answered. His voice was staggered, as though he were holding his breath.

 

“So soft, Cas.”

 

Nothing. No answer. But Dean didn’t mind. He explored with his fingertips, letting his thumb glide against warm skin – Castiel’s shoulder blade – before stroking upward. The softness had a living heat to it, a thousand points of velvet tenderness, and Dean almost didn’t dare to touch it any more firmly than he already was for fear of causing harm.

 

Cas admonished him. “You won’t break me.”

 

Swallowing, Dean spread his fingers out, shifting his body ever so slightly forward to get a better angle. His fingers slipped off the arch of soft and found softer, a deep heat that embraced his fingertips.

 

Beneath that he found resistance. Smooth, finely ridged feathers arced downward from the frame of Castiel’s wings, fell handsomely as far as Dean could reach, then further. Dean smiled while he felt them out, oblivious to Cas directly in front of him. Any hint of guarding his emotions vanished, unselfconscious as he was; so completely and blatantly exposed.

 

He wasn’t thinking about himself at all, only the angel in front of him; only the _wings_ in front of him.

 

Something brushed against his mouth, warm and loving, and Dean knew at once what it was. He kissed back, and Castiel engaged him thoroughly, clever tongue rubbing against Dean’s own. It set his blood on fire to kiss him like this, and somehow – even though his eyes were usually closed anyway – there was something to be said for the blindfold, the way it let him focus completely on the mouth pressed against his own.

 

His hands gripped the shoulders of Cas’ wings as he kissed him, but fell away as Castiel pushed him down onto his back. Rough fingers spread across his bare chest, pinching his nipples so abruptly that Dean hissed in surprise. And sure enough, moments later, something hard ground against his thigh. Yep.

 

“This is turning you on,” Dean said. “Having me helpless like this?”

 

“Yes.” Abrupt and to the point. It was a rhetorical question anyway. Castiel ground hard against him, and Dean shivered, wrapping his arms around Cas’ back. The wings were still there. He could feel the tips of feathers dragging rough against the backs of his hands.

 

“I want to feel them,” Dean said. “I can’t see them, but I want to know they’re there. Please, Cas.”

 

“Anything for you, Dean.”

 

The process of stripping him out of his clothes was brisk. By the time their bodies moved together again, they were both naked, both aroused, and Cas lifted Dean physically against his chest; somehow off the bed completely. The wings wrapped around him instantly, curved around his back and swallowed him in a cocoon of lush, feathered warmth. Castiel was on him, against him, his body sliding against Dean’s own, his mouth crashing back against Dean’s as they writhed together. Dean had to hold tight, hands gripping at the base of Cas’ strong wings, while Cas slipped a hand between their bodies and pulled their cocks together, stroking firmly.

 

All Dean could feel were the wings wrapped around him, the heat of the body pressed against his own, the hand squeezing tight around his cock. He was breathing hard, his own sounds overloud, echoing with his heartbeats in his empty skull. Castiel was moaning as well, low and eager, faster moment to moment. Their skin was and the smell of sex and ozone clad wing feathers drowned almost everything else out.

 

And they were _flying_! God, they were really _hovering_ there while an _Angel of the Lord_ got them both off. It was crazy. When had his life become so crazy?

 

Dean couldn’t see any of it. Somehow, though, that was okay. Somehow he knew that _if he could see_ , the glory of Cas’ wings would have sucked away from the reality of them. Getting to experience all of this… It was _because_ he was blindfolded; _because_ if either of them had been tempted to remove it – and Dean was far from that – it would have burned his eyes out to look at something so brilliantly divine.

 

Besides, it felt really, _really_ good.


	15. Lapdances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrequited love, straight Dean, Cas' POV. Triggery flashbacks to Cas' experiences with April that give him a panic attack.

Castiel wasn’t sure about any of this. The loud music, the throbbing bass, the scantily clad women… Last time Dean had brought him to a place like this, he’d had unrealistic expectations of what the visit would accomplish. In the end he’d made a woman cry and they’d been thrown out—but on the other hand Dean had laughed “more than he had in years”. Wasn’t that worth it, ultimately?

 

Dean patted his shoulder.

 

“Chill. We’re just here to have a good time, and this is the service that the house provides. Remember, keep your hands inside the ride at all times and try not to…you know.”

 

“Lecture her on her “Daddy issues”?”

 

“Yeah, that.”

 

“I’ll try.”

 

Dean leant back, and beckoned with one finger toward an unaccompanied dancer. She bent down close in front of him, and Cas knew without listening that they were talking about him, just as he knew that Dean was appreciating the view of her breasts when they were pressed almost directly into his face.

 

They both looked over at him at once, and Cas felt pinned. There was nowhere to run to, and Dean… Dean had insisted on this; just as he’d insisted at the brothel, and just as he did in every diner and bar where any woman showed the slightest interest in his “handsome friend”.

 

Castiel was supposed to like it too. He was _meant to_ somehow, as though if he engaged with these women in the way Dean wanted him to it might make their relationship less of a burden on him. Cas’ sense of that burden made speaking to Dean about feelings difficult at best; he knew it made Dean uncomfortable. For an angel who struggled to even put names to those feelings, the fact that he had nobody to discuss them with honestly at all often made him even more uncertain about what they were, or what they meant.

 

He laid his hands on the seat to either side of his knees as the woman moved toward him. At first, he turned his face toward Dean, but that only made Dean look frightened and awkward. So Castiel twisted purposefully back in the other direction, narrowly avoiding a face full of boob in the process.

 

It wasn’t until she knelt over him, touching but not touching, that – without warning – it all started to go wrong.

 

Her hair was tousled red, curled and long, and while it was admittedly far more styled than the woman who had taken him to her bed, the memory flashed unbidden none the less. _April_. He stiffened, confused by his own reaction, by the ice cold feeling that lodged in his chest and kept him from breathing. Hadn’t that night felt good? Hadn’t he wanted to do it again? Bragged to Dean about it?

 

It had felt like he was supposed to.

 

But now, inescapably confronted by the memory and the heat of the body above him, trapped in this chair the way that April had trapped him in that chair, all he could think about was dying. She’d driven a blade into him in front of Dean— _killed him_ …

 

The dancer was trying to turn him on. He understood that. In another circumstance it might have done just that, the twitching of her hips and the way she threw back her hair to expose her ample bosom, drowning him in the scent of strawberry conditioner and ylang-ylang flowers in the process. He _wanted_ it to work. He tried to endure it, if only for Dean’s sake if not his own, but then silver light glanced off one of her many bangles, and it was all too much to bear. He reached his hands up, stopping them just above her hips, remembering the rules that Dean had given before: “Don’t touch.”

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Cas turned his face away. There was no escape, and a rush of panic was setting in. _Panic_! He wasn’t supposed to panic; he was a warrior; an angel of the Lord! _Angels didn’t panic._

 

“I don’t think he’s into it,” the woman said, stopping abruptly. “It’s okay, honey. It’s not for everyone.”

 

Cas sighed his relief, and raised his face to look at her entreatingly. Slowly the fear began to subside, and as it did she smiled at him, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Her voice, so low and gentle that Dean couldn’t possibly hear, continued with: “Did someone hurt you?”

 

Castiel didn’t have to respond. She looked so clearly like she understood that he didn’t need to, and he watched as she dropped precariously back onto her heeled feet and went to perch on Dean’s lap instead.

 

Dean, to his credit, just grinned up at her, cocked his head to the side as though to say “don’t mind if I do,” and stretched his arms out onto the top of the bench to either side of his body. Not once did he lift his face toward Cas again, his attention fixed firmly on the dancer, on her writhing body, her ass, her breasts, her hooded gaze.

 

Beside him – and at a polite distance – Castiel watched. His first instinct was jealousy, not because she looked like April, because with distance he could see their differences clearly, and there was neither reaper nor angel possessing her; but because it all seemed so very easy. She used her sexuality with a simple fluidity, and Dean accepted it without hesitation, as though they had a simple rapport between them accomplished only by being members of the opposite sex.

 

They understood each other’s needs, and it _hurt_ to watch them, hurt to watch arousal take shape on Dean’s face, hurt to watch her capture the entirety of his attention merely by being curvy and scantily clad and wholly invested in _him_. Cas was struck by the clarity that Dean would never look at him like that; that perhaps he didn’t know how.

 

But jealousy subsided and something very different reared its head in its place--quite literally, actually. He watched Dean’s fingers curl as the woman danced, watched his pupils dilate, and his thighs and abs clench in reciprocity. He watched Dean lick his lips, worrying the bottom one with his teeth, only to do it all over again. He watched the flush crawl up his neck, darkening the freckles across his nose and temple, and turning his ears pink, sweat dimpling his forehead as the seconds stretched into minutes. Every breath Dean caught and let out, Castiel felt like he was breathing it himself, and when the music ended and, flustered, Dean thanked “Candy” for the dance, Castiel stared at his friend as he composed himself, watched Dean admire the dancer’s ass as she strut away in heels far too large to make the gait attractive.

 

He shouldn’t have stared so long. Dean caught him. It was more than enough to throw cold water on everything Cas was feeling.

 

“What?” Dean asked. “You want me to call her back?”

 

Cas quickly shook his head. “She’s not my type.”

 

“Oh?” Now Dean really did seem interested, leaning ever so slightly forward. Cas watched him readjust his jeans by tugging on one pant leg, but his erection was going nowhere, and Cas knew from experience that it was uncomfortable.

 

“So what’s your type?” Dean asked, scanning the room again as though he could find someone better; someone more suited to seduce the angel who was in love with him.

 

Funny. As simple as the question was, Castiel couldn’t quite bring himself to say “I’m looking at it.” Besides, he doubted there was any scenario, pity or not, where Dean would be willing to offer him a lapdance.

 

He shook his head instead. “I wouldn’t know. I’ll tell you when I do.”

 

“Alright, man,” Dean shrugged, picking up his beer off the table in front of him. “Your loss.”

 

It certainly felt that way.


	16. Masks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possessed/cursed object, sort of case fic, background lesbians (Claire + OFC)  
> Sub!Dean if you squint.

(Dean’s POV)

 

It was a tale as old as time.

 

Not that it mattered how old the tale was, really. The Venetian mask curled its dark feelers into his brain, and Dean could feel his focus slipping, his attention dragging. Another thought found its way creeping into his subconscious with gnarled, ancient fingers: _I love him_.

 

Across from him he watched in relief as the pink hued, feminine mask covering Claire’s face turned to dust, crumbling from her skin. It was the only way to save a hundred lives and end this curse once and for all; the only way to free Claire before she killed herself; the only way to kill the ghost that haunted the mask.

 

 _I love him_ , the mask insisted again, this time summoning Castiel to mind; the angel’s face as sharp as crystal, his blue eyes, his pink lips. Dean knew it was a corrupted thing, but it still felt real, dragging up the image of Cas because it was the easiest way to slip itself deeper. It would re-enact the horrors of its own death, then begin anew, but first it would take the person that Dean loved.

 

Claire reached for his arm. “Dean? It’s got you, hasn’t it?”

 

Dean tipped his face down, looking at her. “I love him,” the mask insisted, out loud.

 

Claire was trembling like a leaf, but she looked back into his eyes and nodded.

 

\---

 

(Castiel’s POV)

 

The phone call from Claire was something hectic. She was short of breath, rattled, and from the first syllable he knew to be concerned for her. That concern quickly found a new focus.

 

“Please. It’s Dean. You have to help him.”

 

The drive seemed to take forever, especially given the lousy South Dakota weather. Anxiety chewed at Cas, a toothy knot in his stomach that radiated outward. He gripped the steering wheel tight, staring straight ahead until his vision began to double on the road, his imagination running wild with possibilities of what fresh trouble Dean could have gotten himself into in the small, harmless town of Sioux Falls.

 

He slowed down as he entered the outskirts, preparing himself for what he’d find. Would Dean be dying? Would he be a vampire again? Dead? Something worse? What could be worse than that? Oh—if there was anything, Dean would certainly find it.

 

They’d only meant to be visiting Jody to catch up with her. “A family Christmas”. Cas hadn’t been able to make it. What could possibly have gone wrong in the meantime?

 

The Impala was parked in the driveway of Sheriff Mills’ home. The lights were on inside the house, so Cas pulled up in the driveway, hesitating as he considered his phone. While he was thinking about calling ahead to let them know that he was here (as if the sweep of his headlights hadn’t given him away), the front door opened, and Claire tumbled out in a hurry, just about managing to avoid skidding on the ice under the porch. She tapped fiercely on his window until he rolled it down.

 

“I locked him in the basement,” she said. “But if he feels anything like I did then it’s killing him already.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“The mask.”

 

Castiel shook his head, confused. Okay, so “the mask” was a lot more information than he’d been able to glean so far, but it was still obscure. “A cursed object?”

 

“Sort of. Sort of haunted.” She pulled back from the window, letting Cas roll it back up before he climbed out of the car. As she explained, he led the way back toward the house. “I was investigating these murder-suicides. Anyway, someone left it on the doorstep, and I thought it was a gift for Alex so I tried it on. Next thing I knew it was back in the box—except it wasn’t, because it was still on my face.”

 

“And?”

 

“And I became totally obsessed with Rebecca Marshall.”

 

“Who?”

 

“A girl in my class.” Claire was blushing when Cas turned to look at her.

 

“Became?”

 

“Well I…I was sort of into her before that, too. I think I would have killed her if Dean hadn’t stopped me. But the only way to get the mask off…”

 

“--Was to put it on himself.” Castiel finished. Logical.

 

“You have to help him. The mask makes you play out a fantasy. Like a script. The other person gets drawn into it too, and then…”

 

“You kill them.”

 

“Maybe you can break the spell,” Claire said, guiding the way into the kitchen and grabbing a knife from the stand. She pressed it into his hands. “Maybe when it doesn’t kill you, it’ll break the curse. Whoever she was, she didn’t mean to kill him, so she kills herself, and the cycle starts all over again.”

 

Castiel nodded. Whatever he was about to walk into was life and death, traumatic; and to think only ten minutes ago he had been driving through a snowstorm, trying desperately to keep the Zeppelin song on the radio from reminding him of Dean.

 

Claire knocked on the door. From very close behind it, a haggard voice – tired from yelling presumably – said “Who is it?” She nodded at him to answer.

 

“It’s me.”

 

“Cas?”

 

It sounded like Dean. Castiel looked at Claire, and she stepped away.

 

“I’m coming in,” Castiel said, before undoing the locks. He half expected Dean to jump him when he opened the door, but instead he allowed Cas to step inside, and Claire closed and locked the door behind them.

 

The single lightbulb hanging above the stairs illuminated Dean’s haggard face, framed underneath the gaudy and yet somehow macabre mask. His nails were cracked and bloodied from where he’d attacked the door. Cas lay his hand on Dean’s wrist and healed them without a word.

 

“It’s you,” Dean said. His lips twisted into a desperately loving smile. “You recognized me; of course you did. I missed you.”

 

They head down the stairs together. When they were past the bottom step, Dean looked at him expectantly.

 

“I missed you too,” Cas replied. He didn’t mean to. The moment he opened his mouth to speak, the words filled his mouth purposefully. They weren’t his own.

 

“Did you, though?”

 

Castiel felt confusion that wasn’t his own. Guilt, too. A flash of anger. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Cas! I know you were with her.”

 

“So what if I was? You know she means nothing to me, darling.”

 

Dean slapped him. “Don’t you dare “darling” me! Daniel told me everything! You… You _cad_. I know what you did. What about your ring? The promise we made to each other? I have to wear white when we marry to signify my purity, but you—“

 

“Are you saying that’s what you are?” Cas purred, stepping into Dean’s space, taking him by the wrists. Dean twisted his face away, as much appearing submissive as he was quaking in anger. Castiel pushed closer, until his breath was hot against Dean’s ear.

 

“It wasn’t very pure, that thing that you did to me in the garden. Is that what virtuous, Godly people usually do with their mouths?”

 

“I don’t—“ Dean shuddered, and tried to wrestle away. “You asked me to.”

 

“You could have said “no”.”

 

“Let me go.”

 

Castiel released his grip, but Dean didn’t move away. After a moment he turned green eyes to look at him, staring through the holes in the mask. His cheeks were almost the same color as it.

 

Edging closer like a frightened animal, Dean reached out until his fingertips grazed Castiel’s cheek, then craned his neck to kiss him, as though he had to reach right up to do it. Lips graced his own, and Castiel felt his eyes slip closed, his breath a mere shudder between his parted lips. That wasn’t part of the spell. Dean was kissing him, and his heart leapt in his chest.

 

The persona clutching him fell back into place quickly enough.

 

“You’re the one I love,” he said, and Cas could feel that it was true. For all the indiscretions, the other woman had been a mistake, and he knew it.

 

“How can you call this love?” Dean answered despairingly; a sad and devoted desperation.

 

“We’re engaged, darling. What else should I call it?”

 

“A sham,” Dean responded, bitingly.

 

“You don’t have anything to give me, my sweet. It’s you I want to marry, not your money.” He chuckled, as though it were a good joke. “Your older brothers are set to inherit your family fortune; your parents estate…”

 

Dean shoved away from him, wild eyed, but still not drawing completely away. The truth hurt.

 

“So now you’re calling me _poor_ ,” Dean snapped. “Am I a joke to you? Is that why you slept with that…that _whore_?”

 

“That _whore_ was a _countess,_ ” Cas answered, bitterness flaring. As much love as he felt, the conversation was wearing thin.

 

“Did she use her mouth the way that I do?” Dean said, looking back at him. He licked his lips, and Cas felt the sensation go straight to his cock. Dean’s voice dropped lower, smouldering. “Did she make you beg for more? A whore would make you beg for more.”

 

Castiel raised his chin. For all his bluster, Dean sashayed back over, catching his hands on the lapels of Cas’ coat and stroking down. Cas shivered abruptly as Dean’s crafty fingers reached for the fly of his pants, pulling roughly at his shirt and shoving down with both hands until he was flustered, dishevelled, his stirring arousal dangling openly between his thighs. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off it.

 

“You liked it, didn’t you?” Cas murmured, uncertainty in his voice. He didn’t want to frighten Dean away. He desperately wanted heat and pleasure – even though he’d never experienced _this_ before - and was so close to having it that he could barely stand the idea of losing it just because he’d said something stupid.

 

Dean didn’t answer. Instead he sank to his knees in front him, gripped the base of Cas’ cock in his fist and wrapped his mouth around it.

 

Cas whimpered, reaching for the back of Dean’s head, winding his fingers as best as he could in his hair. The heat of his mouth was intoxicating, the agile tongue that rubbed across the base, the suction that he applied at the bottom of each bobbing thrust of his head. It made Castiel’s knees weak, drowning in it, and yet when he looked down it was _still Dean_ who was performing this act on him.

 

Somehow Dean wanted this. He’d chosen Castiel because he _wanted_ Castiel, just as Claire had wanted this Rebecca, just as the original owner of the mask had wanted her fiancé. It was love; twisted, ruined, heartbreaking love, and if Dean really felt that way about him then maybe what he was doing was an act of love as well. Maybe it would be _okay_ for Dean that he had a mouthful of Cas’ cock, because on some level that was what he’d actually wanted.

 

Well, okay. Cas was thinking _some_ of that, but not very much, and certainly not all at once. Mostly he was thinking about how gorgeous Dean looked with his plump lips curled around his swollen erection, how tight his hand was, and how close he already was to coming.

 

He didn’t give Dean any warning. Dutiful but obviously startled, Dean choked down his seed when Cas came, shaking and triumphant, and halfway certain that he was about to fall down at any moment.

 

While Castiel struggled just to stay upright, Dean himself stood, wrapping his arms around Cas’ back. He pressed his body full against Castiel’s, holding him in a desperately possessive hug while all the while Cas’ pants slipped precariously lower, his knees trembling.

 

That was when Cas said _it_. Dreamily, airily, as though he hadn’t really thought it through:

 

“You’re so much better at that than she is.”

 

Dean transformed in an instant. Anger flashed in his eyes and he pushed away. The blade that had fallen unnoticed onto the ground at some point in their conversation Dean saw instantly, scooping it up while Cas felt himself struggling to keep any focus at all. His mind felt sluggish, blood thick and slow, and everything far too warm.

 

“I hate you,” Dean said. “I hate you!” The knife was raised in a high, threatening arc, and Cas felt the panic take hold. Strange to panic over a human blade, but he did.

 

“Now, be reasonable, darling. It’s you I’m marrying, not her. And didn’t I say you were _better_?”

 

“I told you not to call me _darling_.”

 

The knife flashed through the air, and Dean threw himself after it, burying the blade in Cas’ chest, then striking again and again. He fell under the weight, pushing at Dean frantically, raising his arms defensively to try and get him off, but a heaviness in his brain was dragging him down, making it harder to resist, harder to fight…

 

When he opened his eyes again, Dean was sitting at his feet, covered in blood, gripping the blade in front of him. He’d been crying—how long had Castiel lay there?

 

“I’m sorry,” he was saying. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I _love you_. I didn’t want anyone else to have you, and now nobody can. Nobody can, not even me. I can’t live. I don’t want to live…”

 

Gradually, trying not to move too fast in case he startled Dean into attacking him again, Castiel sat up. His wounds were closed, but his clothes were still a bloody mess. Not that it mattered. What mattered was the blade tilted precariously toward Dean.

 

“No, _I’m_ sorry.”

 

That surprised him. Dean turned to look at him, blinking wide wet eyes; the red of them suggested that he’d been crying for a while.

 

“You’re… I killed you.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Cas answered, running his hands up and down his chest.

 

Dean scrambled closer, touching him as well. The fact that he still had his pants around his ankles seemed to be something they were both ignoring for now, stunned by the fact that he wasn’t dead.

 

“But how--?”

 

“Does it matter?” Cas asked, touching Dean’s mask gently, running his fingers over the ancient sequins. His hand shook a little. Love or not, Dean had attacked him. With a knife. _Crazy bitch._ But he needed to get out of here without getting stabbed again.

 

“It’s okay now. We can be together. We can still be together, and all of this can be in the past. I’d be crazy to hurt you like that again.”

 

Dean nodded and sobbed a little, placing one hand over his mouth to mute the sound. His eyes filled with unshed tears.

 

“Let’s get out of here, okay?” Castiel pressed. “Together; you and me.”

 

Dean smiled, and Castiel’s stomach churned, but he dutifully stood up, pulling his pants back up and tucking himself away. Dean wrapped an arm around his back. Resting his head on his shoulder, he rubbed his raw cheek against Cas’ coat, and as he did the mask came loose, and he raised his other hand to carefully remove it.

 

At once, the grip of the spell slipped away.

 

Dean lowered the mask slowly. Cas had the impression that he wasn’t taking his eyes off it because he couldn’t stand to look up and acknowledge what he’d done, but instead Dean did just that.

 

“That’s not exactly how I planned to tell you,” he said. He was blushing the way that Claire had, his eyes still damp with the ghost’s tears.

 

“You’re…you’re okay with what happened?”

 

“Hell no,” Dean answered. “Goddamn spell made me the girl. The way I always imagined it, you were the one blowing me, not the other way around.”

 

Cas wasn’t sure what to make of that, but given what they’d been through, the fact that Dean wasn’t storming out had to count for something. Perhaps he really had been thinking about it for a while.

 

“If that’s what you want, I… Perhaps after we’ve burned the mask.”

 

“Yeah, and not in the same house as your bio-daughter.”

 

“Claire isn’t—“

 

“She’s as much yours as she is mine, Cas. I’d do anything for that girl. Case in point.” He looked down at Cas’ crotch, then met his eyes again.

 

“I’m not sure she would agree with the sentiment.”

 

“She would, trust me. Considering when I caught up to her and Rebecca they were acting out the final scene themselves…”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah _oh_. C’mon. Let’s immolate this thing before it can do any more damage. Then you and me can hit the motel before Sam and Jody get back. They’re going to be furious we solved this thing without them.”

 

“I assume we’ll be telling them a very different story?”

 

“You assume right,” Dean answered, shaking his head. He clapped his hand on Cas’ shoulder, steering him toward the stairs. “Let’s go, _darling_.”

 

Castiel sighed. He really hoped that name didn’t stick.


	17. Costume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Top!Cas, fluff and hilarity ensue

“What the…”

 

This was crazy. Sure, he was used to crazy with Cas – you had to be – but this? This was the kind of crazy he didn’t want Sam to see; the kind of crazy that _nobody_ should have to see.

 

Cas grinned.

 

“Don’t you like it? Bzz bzz.”

 

Barefoot, Cas span around, shaking his ass as he went. The yellow hot pants he was wearing were obscene, but no less obscene than the black stinger velcroed onto his behind. A striped skinny shirt clung to his every muscular curve, and a pair of black dangly antennae hung lopsided off his head. Shimmering and swaying as he span around, a pair of glossy plastic bee wings completed the outfit.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I’m a bee. Bzzzz.”

 

“I can see that. _What_ are you doing?”

 

“Bees dance, Dean,” Cas admonished. “I’m dancing.”

 

“Cas, whatever that is it’s not _dancing_.”

 

“There’s no need to be jealous,” Cas teased, spinning around.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. Any harder, and they’d have fallen out of his face. Still, the second Cas turned to look at him, showing off the splotches of red painted onto his cheeks again, he couldn’t help but smile. Castiel looked happy, and Chuck knew they all deserved a little bit of happiness.

 

“Yeah, that’s it. I’m just jealous.”

 

Cas flung his arms around Dean’s neck, leaning into him, still making little “bzz bzz” noises as he did. Clearly he enjoyed being a bee very much, and Dean – loyal boyfriend that he was – was happy to indulge him. He brushed Cas’ hair, lopsided from the antennae, out of his eyes, and then tipped his face in to bump their noses together.

 

“You’re the cutest bee I know,” he promised.

 

“Look at that,” Cas hummed. “I’ve got another stinger…”

 

Dean made a choking noise. Cas, amused, ground his new “stinger” against Dean’s hip. Not that there was much hiding it. The tiny little yellow hot pants concealed absolutely nothing; Dean could feel every inch.

 

“Hell. I’m just too easy,” Dean griped half-heartedly. “What brought all this on, Cas?”

 

“It’s almost Halloween.”

 

“You’re not going trick or treating in that. You’re gonna take some poor kid’s eye out.”

 

“Oh no, honey” Cas purred, pushing at Dean’s chest until he took a step back. “The only sugar I want is you.”

 

Dean caught Cas’ elbows.

 

“Let me guess. You were up late reading cheesy pickup lines?”

 

“Bee jokes,” Castiel corrected.

 

“Of _course_ bee jokes.” To think he hadn’t picked up on that after the “stinger” reference.

 

“Can I still call you ‘honey’?”

 

“You can call me whatever you like.”

 

“My Queen?” Cas asked, hopefully.

 

“Nope. _No_. I draw the line right there.”

 

“Honey, then.” Castiel’s nose crinkled and he gave Dean another firm push. “Sam won’t be back for another hour.”

 

“You know that?”

 

Cas’ gaze dragged when he looked at Dean’s mouth. His fascination was blatant, and when Dean licked his lips, Cas mirrored it. His breath came out staggered as all his blood rushed downward at once. It was almost funny. Sure, Cas’s costume was sexy, but it was always his mouth that drove Dean crazy.

 

He didn’t need an answer. His hands slipped down, finding purchase around Castiel’s naked, muscular thighs, and he lifted the angel off the ground smoothly. It lasted maybe two steps, which was at least far enough to slam Cas backward into a wall. The breathless grunt he received in reply was all he could have hoped for.

 

Dean used the position to better smash their mouths together, and as Cas’ knees climbed higher, legs wrapping around his back, Dean readjusted them both so that he could better take his weight.

 

They staggered the rest of the way, thankfully, into Cas’ room – which was closer – and tumbled in an already exhausted mess onto the bed. Maybe he was getting old if carrying a man thirty feet was leaving him breathless? Then again, maybe it was Cas grinding against him and kissing at his neck. Thinking had to come before breathing, and Dean couldn’t even remember his name with Cas so preoccupied with getting him out of his clothes.

 

Meanwhile the bee wings were looking the worse for wear.

 

Dean had to laugh, pulling away from Cas’ mouth and heaving off his Henley.

 

“I can’t fuck you when you’re wearing all that stuff, Cas.”

 

Castiel’s eyes flashed challenge. “Who said I wanted you to? The costume stays on, Dean.”

 

“Come on, Cas!”

 

Well that just provoked him. Driving the air from his already screaming lungs, Castiel tossed him on his back on the bed, crawling insistently between his knees and shoving back on Dean’s naked chest to pin him flat.

 

“The costume stays on, Dean. Well. Most of it. Besides…” Cas leant closer, his wonky antennae dangling down toward Dean as he crouched over him. “I _like_ being a bee. Bees have natural rhythm.”

 

Despite the obviously innuendo, Dean couldn’t help but snort. “Cas. You have anything but natural rhythm…”

 

“And yours is so much better? I’ve heard you singing in the shower, Dean.”

 

“Fine, so we’re neither of us getting a part in a Disney musical. But there’s some things you do pretty good…”

 

For all their bickering, Cas hadn’t stopped his efforts to get Dean out of his clothes, and when he scrambled back to pull Dean’s jeans off, Dean cooperated, not even struggling for dominance when Cas crawled back between his thighs.

 

“Which things?” Castiel asked. “Things like this?”

 

“Cas—“ Lubed fingers slipped across his perineum, and Dean jumped at the sensation. “Fuck. Where were you hiding that?”

 

“With my stinger,” Cas growled, sliding closer, grinding into midair while he pressed two fingers inside. It was so incredible to watch him fucking the air – ridiculous costume or not – that Dean thought he could come without even being touched; not that there would be time to find out.

 

Cas added another finger, and Dean groaned, digging his heels into the bed so that he could get a better angle. He writhed as Cas fucked him with them, a steady rhythm that had Dean sweating and helpless within moments. Cas never missed his target. He aimed for it.

 

“You want me?” Cas murmured, his lips grazing Dean’s throat. “Do you want my cock, Dean? I’ll give it to you if you ask.”

 

It always drove him crazy when Cas started talking dirty.

 

“Please, Cas.”

 

“Please what?”

 

Dean bashed his head back on the pillow behind him. He _wanted_ to say it. He was fine with filthy, desperate, begging, even when he was the one doing it. But he acted up the protest anyway, strained until he couldn’t stand it any more. It didn’t take long.

 

“I need your cock, Cas. I need you inside me. I need you to get out of those goddamn hotpants and fuck me.”

 

Those were exactly the words he needed. Despite that, it was still hard to keep from becoming delirious as he watched Cas peel himself impossibly out of the yellow shorts. How he’d ever managed to stuff himself in them in the first place Dean didn’t know. Maybe they were like the T.A.R.D.I.S.? Bigger on the inside.

 

He still _moaned_ when Cas’ cock emerged, thick and swollen and slick with precome. His loud yellow and black shirt came almost as far down as the base of it, but concealed nothing, and Dean grit his teeth, staring wild eyed as Cas rolled a condom on over the tip.

 

When black and yellow stripes uncoiled down his length Dean didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

Cas looked way too happy with himself, and Dean struggled to care too much when Cas pressed the tip firmly against him a moment later.

 

Dean grimaced. This was the tough part, and yet somehow just as awesome as all the rest of it. Dean loved it. He loved being able to _feel_ , and Cas… Well, it helped that Cas was the fastest study he’d ever met. If he wanted to, he could hit Dean’s prostate with every stroke.

 

 _He could_. But then Dean wouldn’t last long, and Cas knew that he liked it long, slow and burning. Their faces pressed together, nose to nose and almost mouth to mouth. Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s back, batting at the wings in order to get a better grip, and they began to move together, grunting and puffing, occasionally catching each other’s mouths in a lengthy, uncoordinated kiss.

 

Dean tried to forget the ridiculous antennae that bobbed along with Cas’ thrusting, focusing instead on his perfect cock, on the pace.

 

When they fell together, spent, Cas nuzzled into Dean’s hair, wrapping an arm around his chest and slotting his body in against Dean’s back. They took turns being the big spoon, just as they took turns being on top. Either way, Dean had a special appreciation for being the cuddled rather than the cuddlee.

 

“Cas…”

 

“Yes, Dean?”

 

“I take it back, okay. I think you’ve got great rhythm.”

 

Cas made an incoherent noise into his hair, and Dean shifted slightly toward him.

 

“Hm?”

 

“I said ‘bzz bzz’.”

 

“Bzz bzz to you too, Cas.”


	18. Masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sub!Dean

Thank God for running water.

 

Dean was buzzed, electricity pulsing through his veins, the fight behind him. They were alive – they’d lived – and as usual after a hunt, a fight like this one, his body had to find something else to do with the adrenaline.

 

The motel room they’d had to rent was no better or worse, really, than any of the other places they’d stayed in over the years. Dean had expected it to look better for the price they’d paid, but then this _was_ LA. It looked like crap because it was _still_ crap; _expensive_ crap.

 

What he wouldn’t have given for a flashy bathroom stall, water that stayed warm for long enough for Dean to enjoy it, and a few extra stars rather than none at all.

 

Running water was running water, though. At the very least it kept the sounds he was making from being overheard by Sam. They’d fought for their lives today, all of them, and Cas… When that blade had clattered to the floor and Lucifer had brought him to his knees, Dean had felt an instant flash of concern for his friend, expecting that to be it for him, for himself and Sammy—hell, even for Crowley.

 

They’d been lucky, but Dean hadn’t missed the fact that Cas didn’t care if Lucifer killed him, that he considered the archangel’s escape his sole responsibility. Cas was having a hard time, and Dean just didn’t have the words to fix it.

 

He didn’t have the words to tell Cas how he felt, either. He didn’t know how, and God knew he’d tried. No. Distance was working better there; distance and jealousy. Crowley and Cas? _Yuck_. If only he knew the words to say to make Cas stick around, to make him know that he was worth more than just being some useful tool they could throw at the bad guys to distract them for three more minutes. Cas needed to know that he was _loved_ ; Dean just didn’t know how to tell him.

 

Dean shook his thoughts away. He needed a clear mind if he had any hope of working off some of this steam. Thoughts of Cas with Crowley didn’t help, and remembering Vince Vincente’s shrivelled face as he died was just the kind of boner kill that Dean’s imagination filled with at the least opportune moments.

 

Shifting to put his back to the cold shower wall, Dean deliberately imagined the avenging angel Castiel pressed right up against him, shoving him back firmly. That was enough to do the trick. Dean’s focus snapped straight to his cock, and his libido took his imagination firmly by the hand.

 

 _This way_ , it said.

 

Dean mouthed the words Cas would say to him.

 

_I’m not here to act as part of your fantasy, Dean. I’m an angel of the Lord._

 

Cas was always an angel of the Lord first when Dean imagined him. The power he’d felt against him every time Cas had touched him was intoxicating, but when he pushed him around like this it was another matter entirely. Dean had felt a lot of things like it over the years, but none of them had ever turned him on like Cas did, his voice dark and threatening and intense.

 

“You’ll do what I tell you to,” Dean breathed, just audible enough that he could hear the words reach his own ears.

 

_Is that right?_

Dean shuddered, wrapping his hand around his cock and squeezing it, bucking his hips up toward his own hand. “F-fuck, Cas…”

 

_You still think you’re in control?_

“Cas, _please._ ”

 

Dean began to stroke himself steadily. It didn’t take much to summon the image into his mind, but once it was there his hand stopped being his own. It was Castiel’s hand now, pumping him, and it was Castiel’s arm across his chest that kept his shoulders from rising from the wall. It was Cas’ breathing and not his own that became louder in the cramped shower stall.

 

_Say it again. Say please._

“Please,” Dean whined.

 

He turned around, pressing his chest against the wall, fist trapped between his hips. The head dragged pleasingly against the cool tile, and Dean groaned out loud, no longer really caring if he was overheard.

 

“Please,” he said again, to the ghost of his fantasy. “Fuck me, Cas.”

 

He shifted his hips backward as though seeing out a touch, pretending that he could feel the slip of fingers inside, or perhaps a phantom angel cock. Even though there was nothing there, he rode it anyway, moaning as though he were being split open by the pressure, picking up a jagged rhythm as he moved between fucking himself on nothing at all and thrusting into his open fist.

 

“Fuck me, fuck me—“ he panted. “Fuck me, Cas. Please. Please. Oh God, _please._ ”

 

The flashpoint came too soon, and also just in time. Dean gasped as the pipes let out a ghastly groaning noise, obliterating the sound of his orgasm. Suddenly cold water was pelting down on his back, the heat stolen, and Dean jarred his wrist awkwardly as he scrabbled to slam the water off, shivering through the pulses of his orgasm as the chill set in with a vengeance.

 

“ _Son of a bitch_ ,” he breathed. The fantasy was gone. He was in the same sucky shower, still Cas-less, and reality sank back in as fast as he’d pushed it away.

 

With shaking hands, knees trembling, Dean washed his come off the wall, carefully climbing out of the stall while somehow managing to avoid ending up flat on his face in the process. He quickly discovered that the motel towels were too small to wrap around himself: a washcloth and a hand towel between two grown men? Awesome. He used both to dry himself, then, disgusted, threw them into the sink. If Sam wanted to wash his hair he’d have to get himself a towel out of the car.

 

Groaning, Dean looked at himself in the tiny, smeared motel mirror. His face was flush, his lips pink and swollen from chewing on them—he looked thoroughly fucked. Well, he thought so, anyway. If he stepped out into the room with Sam now, his brother probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

 

Then again maybe he’d heard every word. If he did, though, Sam typically pretended he had no idea. God knew Dean had heard some things over the years he’d kept his trap shut about, and that was despite enjoying ribbing Sam about everything he possibly could. He knew, for example, that Sam still said Jess’ name in his sleep, though he did it far less often now than he had years before.

 

So this would be at least a secret between them. Dean splashed cold water on his face, and scrubbed his fingers back through his damp hair.

 

“I guess I could make him a mixtape,” he said to himself, measuring his feelings out into something he could parse, into something one hell of a lot safer than ‘I think you’re hot, please fuck me in the shower.’ Zeppelin implied much the same thing anyway, but if it ended up awkward he could always pretend that it was just a gift; just something friends did. Cas wouldn’t be able to turn it down that way.

 

Yeah. He’d make him a mixtape. That was sure to clear things up.


	19. Prostitution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sub!Dean, Client!Cas (For the follow up to this chapter, which is a reverse of POV, please go to chapter 26!)

Castiel slowed the Lincoln almost to a complete stop on the corner. This was where his informant had said Dean would be. The street was dark and badly lit, but with the engine running and the lights cutting into the gloom, Castiel could make out the people moving around under the occasional lamp, stepping off the sidewalk to get into cars that would occasionally stop – often with their lights turned off – to admit them.

 

Cas was under no illusion regarding what these people were doing. People sold their bodies for money, and in his experience it was not so different to toil and labor in other ways. It had happened since the dawn of civilisation.

 

But it still seemed strange that Dean would be here. He’d gone AWOL, needing space and distance from both Castiel and Sam, but where had this distance led him? And to what?

 

Perhaps his information was just wrong, Cas thought, grimacing as he watched another dark car pull up to the curb. But when the door opened, Dean’s shape emerging from it was unmistakeable, even if it was odd to say the least to see him dressed so…seductively.

 

Dean? _Dean_ was selling himself? Why? What for? Didn’t he have any money? What about the hustling and credit card fraud? Why was he here, on this street corner, trading tricks to strangers?

 

Cas swallowed, trying to work out how he should approach this. If Dean thought that he was being judged… Would he resist? Just now Castiel didn’t have the power to simply boop him on the head and put him to sleep. He sighed. Perhaps he could convince Dean not to dismiss him at once, and they’d be able to talk, sort all of this out… Because Dean couldn’t stay here, Cas decided. He couldn’t do this to himself.

 

First, though, Cas had to get him into the car.

 

Licking his lips, he turned off the headlamps and nudged the car into first gear. It crawled along the curb, stopping right in front of where Dean was now leaning against a wall chatting with one of the girls. She peeled away with a wink to him and came to the window.

 

“Hi sugar,” she chirped, leaning right in. “Can I help you?”

 

Castiel grit his teeth. It took effort to raise his timbre; to not speak in deep gravel when all he wanted to do was wrestle Dean into the back seat and drive him back to his brother.

 

“Not you. Him.”

 

She was chewing gum, something she continued to do as she stared him down, and then with a dramatic shrug she swung back and waved to Dean.

 

“It’s your lucky night, Genie.”

 

“Sure seems like it,” Dean answered, a lightness in his voice that Cas had rarely heard. Once or twice, maybe; only once or twice, when the burdens of hunting had almost been lifted completely.

 

Dean leaned into the window, looking directly at him. Cas knew he couldn’t be seen, that the light from the street barely illuminated his car, let alone the man inside it. He held his breath anyway, as though expecting Dean to recognize him at once.

 

“So what’ll it be? I’m not cheap, darling.”

 

Castiel decided to go with as few syllables as possible. “I can pay.”

 

That seemed to satisfy Dean. He glanced over his shoulder to grin at his companion, then let himself into the car, dropping onto the seat beside Cas. “Bucket seats. Awesome. And leather.”

 

Cas didn’t answer. Instead he touched the accelerator, easing them back away from the curb. Dean waved his hand in front of him across the dash. “Turn left here. Then right. Yeah, into the alley, that’s good. Now stop.”

 

The car fit so tightly into the alleyway that Cas didn’t think he’d be able to open his door. The same applied to Dean’s side, trapping them both inside with each other. All the better for a sincere conversation…or a romantic tryst.

 

It was also so dark that he could see next to nothing, so Dean’s hand on his thigh was a complete surprise.

 

“I’ve got just what you want,” Dean said, leaning closer. “Just so long as you can pay.”

 

His other hand snuck into Cas’ coat. A moment later he was thumbing it open in the darkness. Castiel could hear the sound of money being counted by touch. Dean, he supposed, could have taken anything he wanted from anyone in a situation like this. He hadn’t even discussed prices; he just assumed.

 

But Castiel wasn’t a customer. Or at least he wasn’t _trying_ to be.

 

Dean’s hand squeezing between his thighs, though, made his brain stutter to a stop. It wasn’t right. Dean didn’t know who he was touching, and yet…

 

“Money gets the honey, sweetheart. Now you just sit back and let Genie show you how sweet it can be.”

 

Castiel didn’t know how to stop this. Dean was squeezing his cock firmly now, and even the possibility of telling Dean who he was filled Cas with cold dread. He was in too deep, and he felt… He felt stupidly helpless, unable to keep this from steamrollering any more than it already was.

 

Dean climbed into his lap and Cas shivered, holding very still as Dean tugged his tie loose with clever fingers, opened the knot, pulled it all the way back through, and tossed it in a bundle into the back seat. He smelled impossibly strange up close like this, like Dean but not, something perfumed and synthetically exotic clouding over everything else. And when Dean bent in and kissed at his raw throat, where the shirt collar had rubbed against the stubble, Castiel had to bite down on a whimper.

 

He had to, somehow, get through whatever it was Dean planned without admitting who he was. He could drive him back to the curbside and let him out, and nobody would know any better for it. Tomorrow he could pick Dean up in broad daylight—what a great idea that seemed to be now.

 

Dean bit down on his throat. It was a firm bite, but completely blunt, meant only to get purchase so that he could lavish attention on the spot. It would leave a mark, Cas knew, even with his grace infused skin, and it was already too late to resist it by the time he realized that, come daylight, Dean would be able to see the mark there.

 

But Castiel couldn’t complain, and not just because it felt damn good. This close, Dean would almost certainly recognize his voice.

 

Dean’s fingers worked open the buttons of Cas’ shirt one after another, exposing his bare skin and tugging at the lapels of his coat.

 

“I know you can make noises for me. I want to hear you.”

 

As desperate as Cas was to keep quiet, he still yelped out loud when Dean pinched his nipple.

 

“That’s better,” Dean purred. Cas watched his silhouette dip lower, and breath gusted across his skin—a warning before a warm mouth crashed down over his nipple. It was such an incredible, unique sensation, that Cas moaned before he could stop himself, and Dean laughed around his mouthful.

 

The sucking… Well, that was nothing to the feeling of Dean’s tongue flicking back and forth across the nub. Cas made noises he’d never made before, and Dean celebrated by slipping a hand down the front of Castiel’s pants and wrapping it around his cock.

 

With his new handful now more than enough to have Castiel’s broken noises of pleasure continuing unabated, Dean’s mouth was free to drag upward, catching a wet kiss on Cas’ collarbone as he pumped him to full arousal.

 

“You paid for everything, so I’m going to give you everything,” he said. “Tell me you want it.”

 

Cas couldn’t think. He was past thinking.

 

“Please.”

 

“Please what?”

 

Castiel didn’t know what Dean wanted. He didn’t know what Dean was going to do, only that he needed him desperately to do it. “I don’t… I don’t know. I want it.”

 

“Oh sweetie. Say my name. Say “ _please Genie”_.”

 

Cas could follow orders. He could do nothing less with Dean’s hand like a vice around his cock. As obscene as it was, he couldn’t escape it. This was his reality. He begged like he was supposed to. “Please, Genie.”

 

“Good boy.”

 

Dean let go, which – Cas thought - wasn’t much of a reward for following orders. He shivered in the darkness as Dean leant away from him, moving his warm body heartlessly away into the other seat. Cas could hear him losing layers, shedding heat and lurid scent at the same time.

 

It was almost too much. Cas could drive away. He could put an end to this. He could…

 

He could sit still while Dean clambered back into his lap, and sob under his breath as Dean rolled a condom down his oversensitive cock.

 

“Aren’t you going to stop me, Cas?”

 

Castiel snatched in a sharp breath when Dean used his name. Caught. He’d been caught, and he didn’t know how to process it. When had Dean realized it was him? Why hadn’t he stopped? But then Dean was sinking down on his cock, swallowing him in the heat of his body, and Castiel’s protest came too late.

 

His hands moved from the edge of his seat to Dean’s hips, gripping him firmly. There was no point trying to stop this now, no point holding him still when he began to move, began to buck his hips and grind down, making soft little gasps of pleasure that Cas heard every syllable of.

 

His own noises were a little louder, more out of control than he could stand. Castiel writhed, twisted helplessly, and Dean laughed at him. The rhythm picked up while Dean crushed his mouth to Castiel’s arched throat, biting at the raw skin again.

 

“You want me, you’re going to have to be honest with me. You tell me what you want.”

 

Castiel shook his head. “I want you,” he said, his chest protesting the air it took to speak when he wanted to moan instead. “Please, Dean. Please come home.”

 

“What if I like it here? What if I needed _this_ for me?” Dean asked, thrusting steadily, gripping the back of the chair with one hand, the other arm wrapped flush across the back of Cas’ shoulders to keep his balance.

 

“I can’t stand it,” Castiel said, honestly. “I can’t leave knowing you’ll…that you’ll—uh.”

 

Dean was nibbling on his ear, enough to drive him crazy from overstimulation. His words were hot whispers that felt wickedly sensual against the shell of his ear. “That I’ll let strangers pay me for my body? You paid me for it. What’s the difference?”

 

“I care for you—“

 

“No,” Dean admonished. He squeezed his muscles around Cas’ cock, wringing tight.

 

“I—“

 

But Castiel couldn’t take it. Not all of this. Not all at once. His hips snapped as best as he could, trapped between Dean and the seat, and he felt himself pulsing, spilling ejaculate into the film of condom that separated them. He’d forgotten how good the sensation was, how it melted down every coherent thought in his brain, and he found himself sinking into a foggy cloud of satisfaction, Dean cradling his head.

 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean cooed softly. He must have said it a few times before Cas managed to tilt his head forward and moan in complaint. “I want the truth. Come on, baby, tell me the truth.”

 

He knew the words now. He found them easily, dragged them across his heavy tongue. “I love you,” he breathed. “I don’t want to see you with…with anyone else. I love you.”

 

Something seemed to relax in Dean; Cas could feel it in all the places where their bodies were still connected, but also in the smile that Dean nudged against his sternum.

 

“Please come home,” Castiel whispered, barely hoping.

 

“Of course I will,” Dean answered, brushing Cas’ hair back. “I will. I love you too, Cas. I love you too.”


	20. Pet Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is under the same spell he experienced in Dog Dean Afternoon, but the effects are taking a while to wear off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut. Dean is a good boy! None the less, subby Dean tendencies.

“Cas, would you…unh…”

 

It was too much fun. He couldn’t stop. Every time he scratched Dean behind the ears, his leg began to twitch under the table, the residual effects of the spell that had allowed him to speak to the dogs. Castiel was still enjoying the after effects.

 

“Goddamnit, Cas!” Dean snapped, furious. It was an improvement. Last time he’d tried to yell at him about the scratching, Dean had just barked instead: “Hey! Hey stop! Stop it! Hey!”

 

He seemed to resent Castiel’s laughter, but honestly Cas just couldn’t help himself. He was only rarely able to enjoy a joke at Dean’s expense rather than the other way around.

 

“Enough, please,” Dean said, when Castiel sat back in his chair again. “I can’t take any more of it.”

 

“Because it feels too good?”

 

“It feels _so good_ ,” Dean admitted. “But we’re supposed to be doing a job here, Cas.”

 

“You shouldn’t deny yourself these small pleasures, Dean. Besides, there’s nothing that we can do until the pet store opens in the morning.”

 

“What does that mean?” asked Dean, warily.

 

Cas reached back across the table. This time, instead of reaching for Dean’s ear, he scratched him under the chin, caught hold of his collar and tugged him up to his feet. Dean obeyed, though he blinked in confusion when he did. He followed Cas too, as, standing, Castiel led the way over to the motel bed.

 

“What a good boy,” Cas purred. He could see Dean’s pride shining in his expression, his eyes widening. He wanted to know how to be a good boy again.

 

“Cas,” he said. “What are you trying to do to me?”

 

“Well I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be so naturally obedient, Dean. I suppose it’s something your father taught you.”

 

Dean’s anger flared up, but then Cas said “Sit”, and Dean sat on the edge of the bed like a rock.

 

“Stop it,” Dean whispered fiercely. “Stop mocking me.”

 

Cas crouched down to eye level, settling on one knee, petting Dean’s hair with his open right hand. “I’m not mocking you, Dean. I’m just, for once, trying to help you relax.”

 

“This isn’t very relaxing.”

 

“Just lie back. Lie down. That’s it, _good boy_.”

 

Dean obeyed, stretching out on the bed, holding his breath visibly. Castiel clambered up onto his knees, setting his palm in the center of Dean’s chest.

 

“See?” he said, rubbing in circles. “It’s nice.”

 

“Shut up, Cas.” Dean’s murmur was drowsy; already the fight was going out of him, as though the first touch to his chest instantly drowned out any resistance he had to the idea of being pampered.

 

Castiel dug his fingernails in, scratching in circles down the center of Dean’s chest, rubbing his belly with both hands, even stroking down the inside of Dean’s thighs while he stretched his toes out. His protests became soft groans of pleasure, his head rolled back, breath falling in glorious little gusts.

 

When Cas stopped, though, Dean tilted his head forward, eyeing him with wicked clarity.

 

“What do you think you’re doing? _You can’t stop_.”

 

Cas raised an eyebrow. “I can’t?”

 

“No. No, now you’ve started, you have to do this all night.” Dean sniffed, and reached a hand for Cas’ wrist, dragging it back into place in the center of his chest. “ _All night_ , Cas. I don’t make the rules.”

 

“I see.”

 

He’d created a monster.


	21. Impact Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consensual pain play and bottom!Dean. Fluffy ending!

Four days. Four days he’d suffered. Four days Dean had spent crushing his knuckles under books and punching walls and slamming himself as hard as he could into doors until he was bruised all over, his body a symphony of pain. Sam was still working on finding a cure for the crucifying venom that boiled through his circulatory system, and while Dean had tried to help with looking for it at first, he’d very quickly given up because focusing on anything meant his mind cleared too quickly.

 

Pain was the only answer to pain. He’d tried drugs first, but they hadn’t worked at all, and God knew Dean had taken everything he could think of. He’d vomited it all back up, and the twisting pain in his gut – just for half an hour or so – had relieved the pressure.

 

It had seemed like an answer to begin with. Every little while he’d needed to hurt himself, and the more badly he hurt, the longer it would stave off the agony. It had escalated quickly – far too quickly – and Sam had caught him sitting thoughtful in the kitchen with a blade in his right hand, looking at the fingers of the other as though trying to decide which one he needed least.

 

_“That’s enough,” Sam said. “I’m calling Cas.”_

_“No. What the fuck for, Sam?”_

_“Because he can look after you, Dean. Because right now you need him.”_

 

So here they were. And really, if things didn’t have a way of going and escalating even then.

 

“Are you sure about this?”

 

“No, not really. But do it anyway.”

 

Dean stared ahead at the brick wall. Condensation or water or maybe primordial ooze always seemed to trickle down the brickwork in here, but at least they only used it as a dungeon and didn’t let people sleep in here they actually cared about. Knelt on the floor and naked down to the waist, Dean had his arms braced on the chair in front of him, his fingers already dug into the flesh of each elbow as he waited.

 

Castiel didn’t stand on ceremony. Once given the instruction, he drew back his arm and slashed down with the cat, striking Dean across the back with all nine leather tails. He didn’t hold back and Dean was grateful for that; any hesitation would have made the pain less pure.

 

He hissed out a breath. Fresh lines of pain cut through his senses. He could almost see them, bright against the back of his eyelids.

 

“How does that feel?” Castiel asked. Dean could hear the stress in his voice. He knew how hard this was for his friend; hurting him intentionally was something that Cas couldn’t even do when it meant fighting to keep himself alive in the face of Dean’s raw Mark of Cain inspired onslaught. No. Cas was his saviour and his healer, and Dean was asking him for something so very different now.

 

“Better,” Dean answered, and he meant it. He _did_ feel better. The pain had been rising before, but now it was specific, and purposeful. There was, underneath it all, something strangely arousing about the whole thing. Maybe it was the sound the cat made. “Do it again.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“Again, Cas.”

 

Castiel obeyed. He obeyed the next three times, too, and when the pain obliterated any hint of pleasure, the next four after that, until Dean’s arms began to tremble on the chair, his head lowered on top of them, face raw with silent tears. When he crouched down quietly beside Dean, Castiel lay his hand gently on his left shoulder, where once his handprint had been more permanent, comforting quietly.

 

“Don’t ask me to hit you again,” he pleaded. “I can’t do it.”

 

Dean lifted his head slowly. Cas was blurry in front of him, the mix of pain and tears keeping him at a safe distance, so that Dean didn’t resist too hard when Castiel smudged a thumb under his left eye, wiping at his tears.

 

Dean nodded. He tipped slightly toward Castiel and found the angel wrapped his arms around him at once, urging Dean toward him so that he could uncoil from the painful position he was in and lean instead against his chest. Dean welcomed the transition, and he didn’t even complain as fingers wound through his hair.

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Cas insisted. Dean didn’t see how it could, but Cas was persistent: “Sam will find the cure.”

 

Dean sobbed. He could feel himself breaking, his endurance beginning to flake away, and he wasn’t at all ashamed of himself when he began to cry and wail into Castiel’s chest while the angel held him. At some point he fell asleep, but even then the pain and despair crept into his dreams.

 

The next time, Cas refused to use the whip. They fought about it. Eventually Dean acquiesced to the paddle, and since they weren’t going to be spilling any blood, they camped out in Dean’s room instead. It was a much more comfortable position, stretched out over the edge of his bed with his hips propped up on a pillow, though Dean insisted on still wearing his jeans.

 

“You’ll just have to hit harder,” he groused defensively.

 

Cas sighed, closing the bedroom door, then after a moment turning the lock. Dean listened to him make his way back to the bed, hovering over Dean before deliberately picking up the paddle that had been set aside for him.

 

“I’m about to begin,” Cas warned. Dean just nodded, shifting briefly on the bed.

 

So Cas struck him. It felt like he’d been swatted on the ass with a newspaper, not a leather flogging paddle.

 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Dean asked incredulously, turning to look over his shoulder.

 

“I didn’t hold back, Dean. I told you: the denim is protecting you, absorbing much of the impact.”

 

Dean grimaced and turned his face away. That was the problem with this. He had the strong suspicion that the paddle would – just like the first few stripes of the cat had – arouse him. It had been fine when he’d been naked only from the waist up, but this was different. Cas wanted his bare ass, and Dean knew full well that it was necessary, but God forbid he got turned on this time. There’d be no hiding it.

 

“Alright. Okay, fine. But you don’t say a word to Sammy about this.”

 

Cas stood back obediently as Dean adjusted his position, pulling his jeans and underwear down over his hips without looking at Cas. He was steadfast in his eagerness to face away, crushing his hips forward against the pillow, trying to crush any potential arousal ahead of time.

 

“Isn’t that painful?” Cas asked, voice wavering, alert to what Dean was doing.

 

“Shut up and hit me, Cas.”

 

He did as he was told. The paddle struck Dean hard across the ass, leaving a pattern of red wavy lines where it had landed. And sure enough, it was one hell of a turn on. Worse, actually, because it was so close to his dick, and because the impact made him buck his hips forward to move away from it.

 

Dean held his breath to keep from making a noise.

 

Without asking if he was okay, Cas hit him again, then again. It was easier to take these than it had been to take the cat. Each blow, though, became ever more arousing, and by the sixth Dean couldn’t keep quiet any more, though he didn’t even really hear himself whimpering.

 

His first moan, around the tenth or eleventh--was unavoidable.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Jesus Christ, Cas. I don’t need the Spanish Inquisition. Just hit me harder.”

 

So Castiel hit him harder, and it didn’t dissuade his erection even one tiny bit. Dean managed to bite down on his next moan, but the one after was a sob as Cas switched hands without warning and snaked the paddle across the other cheek.

 

“Fuck,” he breathed, after the fifteenth, when – since Dean’s knees were moving further apart on the ground, a brisk snap of contracted air caught the back of his testicles.

 

It hurt. Sure it did. But _it felt good_. Dean couldn’t tell which of the two things were having the most luck in shunting away the effects of the spell, and he was reaching a point where it was difficult to even care.

 

“You’re enjoying this.” Cas was more or less reminding him that he was right there, something that Dean was starting to drift away from as he let his enjoyment of it swallow him up. “You’re finding it arousing. Dean…?”

 

“Do it again,” Dean panted, ignoring the fear that tried to blossom in his belly at the reminder of Castiel’s company; his company in this room with his sounds of pleasure, his naked ass, his raging boner. Dean needed this. He _needed_ this, and he couldn’t let his stupid self-awareness get in the way.

 

“Lower,” he said, once Cas had obeyed. “Across the back of my thighs.”

 

Castiel hit him again, until Dean’s thighs were throbbing and raw too.

 

“Dean, please,” Cas begged. His voice broke desperately as he tried to continue. “This doesn’t feel… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

Dean shivered. His arousal ached now, and all he wanted to do was wrap his hand around it and finish, send himself pulsing away to the happy sensation of throbbing in his ass and thighs. But Castiel was still here, and he was involved even if Dean was afraid of what that meant. He couldn’t just beat himself off while Cas hit him and expect the angel to be okay with that.

 

For the first time since they’d started, Dean turned to look at the angel. Cas looked shaky and just a little dishevelled, like he’d been pulling on his tie and running his hands backward through his hair. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his pupils were blown wide, lips wet and parted. Dean spared a look for his crotch, where the visible curve of Cas’ erection arched proudly in its confines.

 

“Cas,” Dean started, trying to ground him. “Cas, buddy. Look. Just take it out. Be careful.”

 

“What?” The word came from halfway down Cas’ throat, more gravel than actual sound.

 

“Take your dick out, Cas.”

 

“Dean, I—“

 

“I swear to God, Cas, I’m not going to ask you again.”

 

Swallowing, Castiel undid his belt, letting it hang from the belt loops, then worked down his fly, wincing painfully as he did. Dean watched Cas’ face the moment he managed to release the pressure on his cock, and flicked his attention down in time to watch Cas palm it, guiding the full length free. It was gorgeous, Dean thought generously, and it was _leaking_.

 

“Good, that’s good. I’m going to need you to multitask for me.”

 

Cas blinked in obligatory confusion, but waited for instructions.

 

“You have to stroke yourself to get off, but I still need the paddle. I want you to hit me, okay? And I want…”

 

Dean licked his lips. This was obscene. This whole thing was kinky sex central, and neither of them had as so much as held hands. But to be perfectly honest his relationship with Cas had always been damn weird. This wasn’t new, they were just taking it to new places.

 

“What?” Cas asked. There was something pitiable about his tone, and Dean realized that it was desperate arousal. Dean was making him wait too long.

 

“I want you to finish on me, Cas. All over me.”

 

Cas seemed to hesitate, staring down at him with his big, scared saucer eyes. But then he nodded, and Dean turned away from him again, repositioning himself on the bed, yanking the pillow up and wrapping his right arm around it, giving himself a better angle and a little more space between his hips and the bed to reach between his own thighs.

 

His relief was instant. This time when Dean moaned he didn’t try and choke down on the sound; he stared straight ahead, squeezing himself eagerly.

 

“Okay, Cas. Any time you like.”

 

Dean hissed when the strike came, clear across his beaten ass. Moaning, Dean bucked into his own hand, starting up a rough, heady rhythm. He had no idea if Cas was enjoying this too; the angel was practically silent behind him, and he wouldn’t have been able to hear Cas’ hand on his cock even if he wanted to over the sounds he made himself.

 

But two more snaps of the paddle, and Dean didn’t have to guess any more. He felt Cas’ hot come splash across his ass and thighs, the salty sting of it in the places where his skin was an open graze, and Dean whimpered and pressed his face down into the pillows, fucking his fist harder.

 

The surprise was when Cas’ hand snaked around his other hip and took hold of his cock too. Dean whimpered, rocking into it, moving his own hand away as Cas picked up the same brutal pace he’d been using on himself. Hips bumped against his ass, knees touching the outside of knees as Cas ground up flush against him, lighting every raw, frayed nerve on fire. Dean didn’t need the paddle any more; just the touch of hot skin against his own was enough to make pleasure and pain fire simultaneously in his fractured brain.

 

He came so hard that for a second Dean genuinely thought he’d gone blind, or passed out, but Cas dragged him back to reality a moment later, palming at his ruined ass with one hand and stroking him through the last pitiable pulses of his orgasm. Lips pressed against the shell of his ear, and Dean moaned again, a soft pitiable noise that – now he thought about it – was nowhere near as inelegant as the screaming shout he’d given when he’d hit his plateau.

 

But Cas was still there, soothing him, stroking him, even kissing him, and Dean dragged his head around to face him drowsily, managing to get a hand around Cas’ tie so that he could pull him down onto the bed beside him.

 

“How do you feel?” Cas asked. He looked and sounded like a frightened child, his bottom lip almost wobbling with concern. Dean figured he was expecting to be rejected, but it was the furthest it could be from Dean’s mind to kick Cas out. After what they’d done? After what Cas had done for him?

 

He pressed his mouth firmly against the angel’s, more of an answer than anything else he could think of to say, then pushed their foreheads together.

 

“I can’t feel it any more. There was always a residual tingle from the curse, but… It’s just gone. It’s gone, Cas. I think we broke the spell.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Pretty sure. That was… That was pretty weird. But _you_ were incredible.”

 

“I just did what you asked.”

 

A loud, frantic knock suddenly sounded on the bedroom door. When Dean moaned in dismay, rolling over onto his back, his ass went flat against the bed for one horrible moment, and he swore at the top of his lungs.

 

“ _Son of a bitch!_ ”

 

“Dean?” Sam called, through the door. “Dean, I’ve got it. I’ve found the cure. But man, you’re not going to like it…”

 

“Is that right?” Dean called back, trying to sound interested and not exhausted and spent, his voice ragged from moaning. He readjusted himself on the bed and Cas sat up behind him, kissing tenderly at his throat, a stupid smile on his face. Modesty or not, he was basically glowing at being called ‘incredible’.

 

Dean grinned and lifted a hand to stroke Cas’ cheek. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you, Sammy. A cure sounds like it’d be a great idea.”


	22. Collaring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be considered a prequel to "Humiliation". Demon!Dean, unconsensual sub!Cas, no smut.

Castiel resisted the demons just because he could. He made himself a dead weight, feet dragging on the stone ground, struggling furiously every time he was forced to make purchase. Once or twice they lost their footing or staggered painfully, and it filled Cas with dark glee to watch them falter. For some reason, they didn’t even bother to hit him—or maybe they were afraid to. Castiel didn’t care.

 

The throne room, when they reached it, had demons waiting around in a semblance of order, but they all parted as he was dragged in, forming lines down each side of the room like guests at a wedding.

 

At the end of the aisle his groom waited. Dean stood over Hell’s throne, turning to stare at the demons who’d brought him in. He was the only person on the dais; the new King.

 

How far he had fallen.

 

The demons tossed him to the ground in front of Dean, and Castiel was halfway to regaining his feet when Dean placed a foot in the center of his chest and kicked him sprawling onto his back. He knew to stay down at that point, though he did at least climb back to his knees.

 

When a beat had passed, and Cas hadn’t tried to rise again, Dean sat on the throne.

 

“How did it feel? Spending a night as the guest of Hell? They told me you slept.”

 

“If you could call that sleeping.”

 

“The screams? I know. It’s hard to sleep through them at first…”

 

The reminder of Dean’s time in Hell as a prisoner, just as Cas was, was painful enough that he didn’t answer. He waited for Dean to move the conversation on. He’d been brought here for a reason.

 

“I decided what I’m going to do to you,” he said, with such warmth that Cas had to remind himself that it was a threat.

 

_“To me?”_

 

“That’s what I said. You see, Cas, it’s just not going to work; you and Sam running around trying to drag me back, trying to cure me? You’re going to die anyway, but Sam… It’s obvious to me now. I have to put him down before he puts me down.”

 

“What? You can’t—“

 

“I can, Cas. I will.”

 

Castiel believed him. The certainty in Dean’s expression was that of a man who had made up his mind. But if Dean killed Sam then there would never be any coming back from that. It was a grim certainty that a Dean who had chosen to murder his own brother could never be cured, because it would ensure certain death by guilt.

 

“Please, Dean. Please don’t. He’s your brother; your only brother. You love him.”

 

Dean shook his head. “Do I, though? Do I love him, Cas? Have I ever? Sammy’s been a thorn in my side since he was born. If not for him, I’d live in a happy little family with my mom and dad, and none of this crap would have ever happened. It sounds to me like Sammy has to take a lot of the blame for that.”

 

Castiel squinted at him. “He was a helpless infant.”

 

“He still _existed_.”

 

Castiel began to try and rise, but Dean cocked his head at him and glowered, and Cas sank back to his knees again. There was a murmur in the ranks of demons around him.

 

“You wouldn’t be telling me this if I couldn’t change it,” Cas finally said. “You’d have killed him already if that was the plan.”

 

“That’s right,” Dean agreed. “I’m offering you a chance. The rest of your life. I want the rest of your life, Cas, down here, and you can’t resist; you can’t fight it. You’ll be mine for as long as you have left.”

 

Cas snorted. It wouldn’t be long. He was already sleeping too long. He felt half dead even now, his borrowed grace a tattered lifeline and nothing more, and without a soul Dean couldn’t make claim on him beyond his death.

 

“In return for Sam’s life?” Cas asked.

 

“In return for Sam living happily ever after, never seeing another demon again.”

 

It was almost too good to be true and Castiel desperately wanted to question it. But what choice did he have? Dean couldn’t kill Sam. Even if Dean killed him, or did worse, he _mustn’t_ kill his brother.

 

“And this is a demon deal?” Cas asked. “You will be bound to it by contract?”

 

“Signed, sealed and delivered, Cas.”

 

Castiel nodded, then shook his head, then said “Then _yes_.”

 

The last few days of his life so that Sam could live out the rest of his? There was no question.

 

A demon appeared with a scroll, and Cas barely even looked at it, signing an X at the bottom. He had never bothered to create a signature for himself, so an X would have to do. The scroll vanished.

 

Dean stepped down off the dais, touching a hand to Cas’ shoulder. He felt like corruption, a greasy flame across his skin. Cas tipped his face away, trying to lean from the touch, and Dean chuckled.

 

“You’re mine now, Cas. No more wandering off. No more angel missions, no more fuck ups, no more going off script.”

 

Cas frowned. When he looked back up at Dean he stared accusingly. Still proud, still defiant he raised his chin to reply. “All you ever had to do was ask. But you’re going to be disappointed. My life has been cut short. I’m not sure how long this grace will keep me, but I doubt it’s long enough for you to appreciate your victory.”

 

Dean shook his head. “Life finds a way, Cas. And I’m very resourceful. Even more resourceful now I have an army of demons to command. So let’s try this again, shall we?”

 

Castiel barely noticed Dean waving over his head. He was staring up into the face of the man he knew and seeing it change, watching the darkness warp it. The bright soul that he had once claimed as his own was shadow now, and it was breaking his heart to see it almost as much as it hurt to look at green eyes and see them flicker to black.

 

“Since you’re now my property,” Dean said, reaching past Cas to take something. “I went shopping for something to mark the occasion.”

 

Cas was stunned to see that Dean was holding a collar in both hands. It was made of heavy leather with a pale tan lining, large silver D rings worked around it at intervals. Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but horror froze his tongue.

 

Dean smirked. Apparently he didn’t have to ask, Dean already knew his question.“I knew you’d say ‘yes’, Cas. I already knew you were going to say ‘yes’.”

 

Humiliated, all Cas could do was close his eyes, trying not to breathe as Dean pressed into his space and wrapped the collar around his throat.

 

“You always wanted to belong to me,” Dean purred, breath a hot whisper that none the less sent chills down Cas’ spine. “Now you do.” The demons were applauding their new master’s ingenuity at capturing an angel, but Cas couldn’t hear it, a screaming whistle in his ears obliterating everything else but the sound of Dean’s voice.

 

The weight of the collar around his neck was proof of ownership. So was the sick lump that had coalesced in his gut. Dean wouldn’t let him die. No. The new King of Hell was having too much fun for that.


	23. Against A Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during 5.18. This is basically the Destiel trademark move, so of course I had to do it. Why not in the episode with the best 'against a wall' scene in the whole series?  
> 100000000% dom!Cas

Dean grunted. The force of the angel’s body against his own was almost unbearable. He was a wall of strength, indomitable will like iron shoving hard against him, pinning him against the clammy brick helplessly.

 

Castiel couldn’t have been angrier with him if he tried, and Dean really didn’t know how to deal with it--not _now_ when there was so very much more shit going on in Dean’s life than usual. Thank God Sam and Bobby were upstairs. If they had the slightest clue what was happening to him in the safe room, they might have interceded on his behalf, and right now, with Cas grinding up against him like a thunderstorm in a trench coat, Dean didn’t want it to stop.

 

It bruised him where he was suffering the most, and oh, how he _needed_ to be hurt. He needed it rough. He needed to feel on the outside like he did on the inside.

 

The last time someone had looked at him like this he’d gotten laid. Now? Well. Now he was getting laid. How was that for wild speculation?

 

Nostrils flared an inch from his lips, and then Cas fell upon them with fury, kissing him hard enough to bruise. It was like trying to kiss a moving freight train. Cas stole the breath from his lungs and left no doubt in who had control, plundering his mouth with his tongue when Dean gasped for air to breathe into his haggard moans.

 

This wasn’t a gentle creature. This wasn’t the vision of angels as fluffy winged harmless cherubs fluttering around playing harps and chilling on the clouds. Castiel was power and violence. He walked into a room and he laid it to waste, and it was the sexiest thing that Dean had ever known; ever seen.

 

Dean _wanted_ him. He wanted Cas to own him, tell him what to do and then _make him do it,_ and not just because nothing had seemed right since John had gone out of his life. No. It just made the world a safer place, and right now Dean’s fate was a suffocating threat looming over his head.

 

Castiel, this tower of strength, could make that all better. Or he could try. He could…

 

He could rip Dean’s shirt open with his superpowered Superman hands. He could leave him trembling in the tattered remains of it as bruising hands ran tracks up both sides of his chest, twisting his nipples and digging in hard under his collarbones while Castiel closed teeth around his pulse and sucked the life out of him.

 

Dean felt his knees go from under him, but Cas was already making up for it, using his hips to pin Dean’s to the wall, holding him in position like a butterfly on a pin board, seemingly everywhere at once.

 

“ _Cas, please…_ ”

 

“You want me to fuck you,” Castiel breathed. The words surely hadn’t existed in the angel’s mind before, but Dean was practically screaming them inside the echo chamber of his brain. It was impossibly arousing to hear the angel actually give voice to his thoughts, so _other_ in every other possible way that Dean’s head span under the onslaught. Cas seemed untouchable, pristine, a passionate warrior who had taken an unwarranted interest in him for reasons Dean didn’t really understand, even now.

 

And if that creature wanted to fuck him senseless? Fine. That was fine with Dean.

 

Cas put him down on his feet, waiting for a moment to be sure that Dean could find his balance, and then he started shoving at Dean’s clothes, pushing his ruined shirt and jacket off his shoulders and then dropping down in front of him to tear him out of his jeans as well. Dean cooperated as much as he could on wobbly legs, letting Cas drag off his shoes and yank his jeans off one foot at a time. When he was naked and trembling, standing helpless in front of the fully clothed angel, he moved to reciprocate if only to settle his suddenly vibrating nerves.

 

Castiel stopped him, placed a hand right in the center of his chest, and tipped his own head to one side, wearing that “Don’t fuck with me look” that drove Dean’s dick crazy.

 

“That won’t be necessary.”

 

Dean swallowed. Jesus, that voice did things to him that ought to be criminal.

 

“W-wait—“ Dean flailed, as Cas shoved him bodily back again, crowding into his space. “We can’t just… What about lube, Cas? We need—“

 

Castiel just shook his head, and Dean whimpered. His head was spinning at the thought of doing this without lubricant of any kind. It wasn’t like Cas had ever done this before, right? Maybe he just didn’t realize how important it was. And yet stupidly some part of him thought that this crazy idea would maybe not be as bad as all that: that he wanted to be fucked raw; that he wanted it to hurt.

 

Reality caught up to him very quickly when Cas caught his thighs, dragging his feet off the ground and using his hips to pin Dean to the wall again. Helplessly he whimpered while the angel unbuttoned his fly, leaving enough space between their bodies so that when Dean looked down he got an eyeful of Castiel’s enormous cock, the tip already weeping precome. Castiel spit liberally into his palm, reaching down to slick his cock with it while Dean watched.

 

“You mocked me with sex,” the angel snarled. “You thought you were being clever, but you have no idea what I’m capable of, Dean.”

 

Cas crowded back into his space and Dean whimpered, gasping as that precome slick head ground into the cleft of his ass. His legs wrapped tighter around the angel’s back - his arms too - holding on for dear life.

 

“P-please Cas,” Dean begged. “ _Please._ The lube. You can’t just—“

 

Oh, _he could._

Castiel looked triumphant, his face inches away from Dean’s as he drove his cock home. He slammed deep in a single, powerful thrust, and Dean screamed. The agony—the agony was like nothing he’d ever felt before, tearing him open like a blade was being shoved into his most vulnerable place, and for a second a wave of nausea swept over him in its wake. He was going to pass out!

 

But then it was just gone. The nausea vanished, and Cas was comfortably settled inside him, vast cock stretching him wide but not tearing him open. Dean, breathing hard, could still vaguely grasp that he had been in pain, but Cas had healed it with his magical healing angel cock, and Dean could only find himself staring wild eyed at the victory smirk that danced in the corner of Cas’ mouth.

 

“You…you _asshole_ ,” Dean panted.

 

Cas looked like he might say something clever about assholes, but Dean instinctively squeezing his muscles around the cock inside him changed his mind.

 

“You feel good, Dean,” Castiel purred, so easily that it sounded like the kind of compliment you gave someone on their choice of shoes. “So tight. I can see why humans enjoy this so much.”

 

Cas moved and Dean let out a string of expletives that weren’t meant for angel ears. The stretch was an ache, but he could feel that there was just enough slick inside him to do the job, even if it tugged a bit at his pucker every time. It didn’t _hurt_ though, the way Dean had expected it to. The strange sensation felt as good as it ever had when Dean had bottomed before, only this time? This time it was a real live actual angel fucking him; a hot nerdy angel with a cock the size of the Chrysler building and a dom voice that cut him right to the bone.

 

The first thrusts, testing the water, became deeper and harder as Castiel found his stride. Dean knew how this was going to end, but it was the part in the middle he craved most desperately, and as Cas gained confidence, Dean watched him switch from curious testing to the same intense focus that had rattled his bones earlier when Cas had slammed him against the wall.

 

The snapping of Cas’ hips quickly took on greater purpose. The rhythm picked up its pace, but the thrusts became rougher and deeper as well, each one of them jarring him purposefully backward. Cas pounded him so violently that despite his grip around Cas’ back, Dean’s thighs opened and closed like butterfly wings every time Cas slammed into him again. The same thighs shook each time that Castiel expertly stabbed into his prostate, and since that was almost every single time, it seemed to be an uncontrollable, unending rhythm of punch-in-the-gut pleasure.

 

All that power that Dean found so terrifyingly sexy turned Cas into a force to be reckoned with now. Since the angel didn’t need to breathe it didn’t seem to trouble him at all to crush his mouth against Dean’s and throttle his sounds as well, choking off his desperate efforts to take in more breath with his agile tongue and bruising lips.

 

It was all too much. Fucked with more efficiency than he’d ever been fucked before, head spinning from lack of oxygen, clutching handfuls of Castiel’s tan coat in an effort just to hold on to some kind of reality, Dean was going to come first whether he liked it or not. He comforted himself that he was going to shoot his load all over Cas’ neat accountant clothes, something which brought just a hint of smug satisfaction in the wake of the most mind-blowing orgasm he’d had since discovering orgasms were a thing.

 

But Cas kept fucking him. Cas bit his shoulder and tore into him like a jack hammer the second Dean crested his wave, and as his orgasm tore out of him in searing bursts, Cas was suddenly moving in a wicked frenzy, pounding into him so fast that Dean thought his spine was going to shake apart, his head lolling forward helplessly as teeth sank deeper into his flesh.

 

They both shared relief when Castiel came. Dean could feel the force of the angel’s orgasm inside him, but didn’t even have the strength to quip about whether Cas’ stuff was divine too. Dean imagined he could feel it inside even after the initial sensation, hot and sticky burning a hole in him, and that when Cas pulled out and it dripped down the back of his thighs, it was less creamy and more glowy blue like angel grace.

 

Maybe not, but Dean was coming down now, weak as a kitten, and Cas was still holding him up with inhuman strength, up against the wall where Dean sagged like a wet rag in his grip.

 

“Dean.”

 

There was that sexy voice again. Dean loved it when Cas said his name like that. It drove him crazy, and if they didn’t all die horrible, painful deaths from archangels, he wanted to hear it a whole lot more in moments just like this one.

 

“ _Dean,_ ” said the voice again, insistently, and Dean dragged his eyes open. His head had lolled to one side, but there was no mistaking the fact that Cas had a hand underneath the tongue of his silk tie, and was lifting it purposefully toward Dean’s face.

 

“You got something on my tie,” Cas said.

 

Something like focus began to creep back into the edges of Dean’s vision. There was spunk on Cas’ tie, no doubt about it. His spunk. And the fact that it was being pressed ever closer to his mouth left no doubt as to what Dean was supposed to do about it.

 

The angel raised his eyebrows expectantly, piercing him with commanding blue eyes, and Dean was too rattled to put up any kind of a fight. Besides, who would even want to?


	24. Exhibitionism/Voyeurism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes some coercion.  
> More Top!Cas  
> So much for this team!Switch thing it turns out I kind of suck at it?

Dean shook with fury, staring helplessly around the room. Beside him Cas was silent, a pillar of vibrating frustration that Dean could feel coming off him in waves.

 

They couldn’t take on a room of gods and goddesses even if they wanted to. Add in the fact that they were all horny, heavily dosed from their satyr-cum spiked bunch bowl, and there was no way out of this that Dean could see. They’d been lucky so far: when Zeus had pulled out his enormous cock, Athena had glowered at him. The goddess of wisdom explained politely to her father – while eyeing Dean like a piece of meat – that it wasn’t safe for any of them to have sex with either of their guests. Not unless they wanted more half-bred demi-gods leaping out of their empty heads. She reminded him of the swan incident when he tried to argue.

 

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t watch,” she said, mouth curling into a smirk.

 

_“What?”_

 

Dean quickly wished he hadn’t asked.

 

Now here Cas was, an inch away from him, and there was nowhere to go. There was nowhere to escape from what they’d been asked to do, no matter how much it set Dean’s teeth on edge. He could see Cas was no more engaged in the idea than he was, which didn’t make it feel any better.

 

“Listen, boys,” Hecate teased. “It’s not a good idea to keep even one of us waiting, never mind all of us. Ares, for example? He has a very short attention span.”

 

Ares snarled. “Yeah. Get on with it. _I told you_ we should cut them to pieces.”

 

“Just—just shut your trap,” Dean snapped. God of War or not, Dean didn’t care. “We’re doing what you wanted, but this isn’t exactly how I planned it to go down, so just give me a goddamn moment.”

 

He didn’t miss the irony in his choice of expletive.

 

“They’re in love,” Diana teased, sliding her hand up Hecate’s thigh. “My little hunter’s in love. It’s _adorable_.”

 

Something tightened in the corner of Cas’ mouth.

 

“Dean, do you want me to--?”

 

He was at risk of hyperventilating, so maybe it wasn’t so bad that when he nodded Castiel took over. It was a smooth transition. One moment Dean was just standing there, a mess of nerves, and then he was wrapped in strong arms, pulled against a powerful, hard chest, and kissed so hard that his thoughts practically evaporated.

 

Castiel pulled Dean’s focus inward. They’d been standing alone in a room full of dangerous, evil monsters, and then? Then there was just _Cas_. _Everything_ was Cas. Cas’ tongue and Cas’ teeth and Cas’ hips grinding against his own; Cas’ hands gripping his back hard enough to bruise right through his clothing.

 

It wasn’t so bad. It might even be easy to forget himself in this, drown in the inevitable force that was sucking the breath out of his lungs and making his head spin.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed, when Castiel broke away from the kiss and focused instead on unbuttoning Dean’s shirt. “You don’t fool around, do you?”

 

“Do you want to leave this place alive, Dean? _I_ do. There are things we need to discuss; things we need to… _Away from here._ We should…” Cas bent in, biting at the meat of Dean’s chin. He tore the last of the buttons off forcing Dean’s shirt open. “We should do our best to satisfy our captors.”

 

“Satisfy--?” Dean’s eyebrows rose an inch. “ _Oh.”_

 

Easier said than done when Cas’ plan seemed to mean that they really were going to get down on the floor and fuck.

 

Shirt pulled back over his shoulders, leaving him naked from the waist up, Dean could do very little more than tremble, though the room was actually unreasonably warm. Still, when he looked around he could see the effect that they were already having. The party guests, already doused with supernatural sex drugs, were starting to fall about in supine positions, languid and wanton. Some of them were already exploring each other with their hands. Some explored themselves. All of them were watching the pair of them hungrily.

 

“Don’t stop now,” called one, a big guy who was pleasuring another god with all four of his hands. Dean hadn’t caught all their names, and he didn’t particularly care to know them.

 

He looked at Cas, squaring himself away with what they had to do. “You heard the god.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

Cas started to pull off his coat, but Dean reached to stop him. “No, don’t. If we have to get out of here in a hurry at least one of us should have some clothes on.”

 

Dean knew what he was suggesting. It only took Cas a moment to catch up. “Oh. Um. If you’re sure.”

 

It made him feel so much more vulnerable to see Cas looking at him with such concern. He hadn’t realized it would feel like that. It wasn’t like he’d outright begged Cas to fuck him up the ass, and yet—that was what this was, what this meant. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it. Just—just don’t, okay? Just do it.”

 

Cas didn’t answer, he just reached between them as Dean held onto his shoulder, unbuttoning the fly of his jeans.

 

“Okay,” Dean breathed, making the mistake of looking around the room again. “Okay, I can do this. I can… _Fuck Cas_.”

 

He’d thought Cas had one hell of a grip when he’d pulled him from Perdition, but it was nothing to the vice that wrapped around his cock. His knees crumbled, and Cas went with him, lowering him down the floor without removing his handhold even for a moment. Dean could hear gasps and moans from their audience, but his attention remained on the angel looming over him, palming him now with such calm efficiency that it drove Dean crazy. It was like he knew how to pace this just right, applying just enough physical force that it felt good without feeling _too_ good. If he came from this it would be a long time coming.

 

Jesus. Cas was stroking him like they were making porn.

 

“Is that good, Dean? Are you getting wet for me? Do you want me to fuck you?”

 

And apparently talking like they were making porn too. That was _not_ sexy.

 

“Cas—Cas, can it with the dirty talk. Unh… Fuck. Okay. _Okay, yes_. You can fuck me. Fuck me.”

 

“Do you still want me to be quiet?”

 

“Let the angel say whatever he wants,” called a slurring member of their audience.

 

Dean stared helplessly up at Cas and found understanding there. Apparently “the angel” only wanted what Dean wanted.

 

Though Cas was quiet, the audience was less so. There were calls for different positions, but ultimately Castiel decided on how this was going to go, kneeling between Dean’s thighs with their noses inches apart. There was bitter disappointment from some, but Dean was relieved. It helped to shut out some of the noise; he could almost pretend it was just the two of them, their breath melding together, lost in the spell of each other’s eyes as Cas made love to him like they were the floor show at a brothel, fucking him so slowly that it seemed to go on forever.

 

So much for romance.


	25. Smiling/Laughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of sub!Cas

“That’s not funny.”

 

Dean chuckled, sitting up in Cas’ lap. “It’s hilarious.”

 

“It’s not,” Cas protested again. He was pouting, and Dean was half sure he was serious. It didn’t stop him from laughing again, rocking back and forth above him, naked but for the pair of fluffy white party wings he wore on his back.

 

“I got you a pair too. We can be angels together.”

 

“I feared as much.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, pushing Cas down onto his back on the bed, leaning across him. He could see from the way his shadow was cast by the lamp above him that the wings were on lopsided. Dean laughed again and Cas put on his best glower.

 

“I’m calling bullshit,” Dean said smugly. “You like them. You’ve been secretly thinking about what I’d look like with wings this whole time.”

 

“If I had, they would be a great deal sexier than those.”

 

Dean’s smirk faded into something far more smouldering. “So you _have_ thought about me with wings.”

 

“I didn’t—“

 

“Yes you did,” Dean grinned. “ _You did_ , Cas. No escaping from it now.”

 

“None the less I find it quite careless of you to go about reminding me of what I’ve lost.”

 

Well, that was fair. But Dean was wearing these wings to make a whole other point. His grin didn’t even falter even as he sat back.

 

“Handcuffs,” he suggested.

 

Cas regarded him warily. “If it means I don’t have to wear the wings, then fine.”

 

Dean hopped off the bed at once, grabbing for their toolbox full of sex toys. It was getting too full now. Sooner or later he was going to have to get a bigger box. Or throw something out. Considering he had special memories attached to each and every thing in the box, it wasn’t something he really wanted to do.

 

Selecting the fluffy handcuffs, both because he was feeling very fluffy and because Castiel was definitely going to writhe considering what he had planned for him, Dean climbed back up onto the bed. It wouldn’t do for Cas to hurt his wrists now that he couldn’t even heal himself.

 

Clicking each of the cuffs into place and securing Cas to the bolts that Dean had drilled into the headboard, Dean settled back on his heels again. His lover was helpless, and that meant…

 

He reached over his shoulder and pulled several of the feathers out of his fake wings. Cas gave him his best scowl.

 

“What do you mean to do with those?”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. He bent toward Cas, a man on a mission.

 

“Dean? Dean, wait! Dean! _Dean no! No no no. Stop!_ ”

 

But Dean was merciless. He dragged the feathers up and down the center of Cas’ chest, tickled down across his quivering stomach, up his sides, and most importantly underneath Cas’ vulnerable armpits, all the while laughing wildly as Cas squirmed and wiggled fiercely underneath him.

 

“I’ll—I’ll get you back for this. I swear. I sw—hahaha. Dean. _No,_ Dean! Stop! _Stop!_ ”

 

Soon enough they were both laughing together, Cas a breathless mess from giggling, helpless under the ticklish feather barrage.

 

“I hate you. _I hate you_.” Cas whimpered when Dean finally stopped, though he didn’t resist as Dean snuggled up beside him, kissing along his collarbone. “You’re a _monster_.”

 

Dean still couldn’t shake the grin. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Cas’ jaw.

 

“A monster,” Cas repeated in an exaggerated huff.

 

Dean bumped their noses together. “You’re too sweet. Do you want me to let you out of the cuffs now?”

 

Cas made a soft noise, considering it. “Mm. No. No, you owe me.”

 

“Is that right?”

 

“Yes, you do,” Cas insisted, uncompromising. “It’s the least you can do.”

 

“And what is that?”

 

Cas lifted his chin half an inch, so that he peered imperiously down at Dean. It made his smile look sharper in the corners.

 

“It’s been a while,” Cas said, “since the last time I was fucked by an angel.”

 

“Then we should fix that,” Dean agreed. He was already grinning again. “Nipple clamps?”


	26. Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ftr ties, suspenders, buttless chaps and over the shoulder gun belts are also all super sexy, why are they not on the Kinktober list?  
> Also this chapter isn't about any of those things. It's a redux of the prostitution story only told from Dean's POV. <3 Enjoy

He should never have let Cherise convince him that stockings were a good idea, especially with the leather hot pants combo that he’d been aiming for in the first place. Oh, Dean had loved them for the first few minutes after he’d put them on, running his hands up and down the slick sheen, admiring his feet as he turned them in his heels, but oh, he was missing having a good thick pair of socks on. And boots. He missed his work boots.

 

Still, it was what he wanted. It felt good, even though his feet ached horribly, and Dean smiled and leant to kiss his current client goodnight on the cheek. He could still taste the acrid cherry flavoured chemicals of his client’s condom on the back of his tongue, but at least it wasn’t spunk. He was being safe, and considering it was only a matter of time before he turned this life in and went back to something far more dangerous, a life that had never been his choice…

 

Well. The best he could do was look out for himself. So far so good.

 

Stepping out of the car he moved back under the dim streetlight. Cherise and Magdaleine were haunting this part of the strip with him, and since he liked both of them it made it easier to pass the evening even when they didn’t have company. Always they kept their eyes on the end of the street, watching each car that passed, at once as ready to run as show off their best attributes.

 

Dean watched the latest vehicle sitting in the shadows at the end of the street with its low beams on. They looked familiar.

 

He turned his back on the strange car and smiled at Cherise.

 

“I’ve been wearing these things for two weeks now. You said it’d get easier, but I have blisters on my blisters.”

 

“You shaved, though. That’s good.”

 

“It was the only way to get the stockings to stay up.”

 

“Honey you’ve got such nice legs you _should_ be showing them off.”

 

She made a soft clucking noise, and Dean angled his chin, holding his breath as the car rolled up beside them. It was a familiar engine. He’d know the specific clunk of the failing third piston no matter where he heard it. God knew he’d been telling Cas to let him fix it for at least the last year.

 

“Could you get this one?” he asked. “See what he’s after.”

 

Cherise smiled at him and turned away, sashaying her way over to the car while Dean hung back. He let his gaze follow, tracing the all too familiar lines of the Lincoln Continental. Part of him had been surprised to see Castiel driving at all, but the fact that he’d chosen an car like the Lincoln had been almost touching. It wasn’t an Impala by any stretch of the imagination, but… Well, it was very Cas. It matched his coat.

 

There was no mistaking the rumble of his voice, even if Cas seemed determined to hide his identity. Well now. Wasn’t that interesting?

 

“It’s your lucky night, Genie,” Cherise purred, crossing back over to him.

 

“Sure seems like it,” Dean answered. Wasn’t it just? Definitely _someone_ was going to get lucky.

 

Dean bent down, peering in through the window. The light fell across the John’s side of the car typically, shielding them from scrutiny. Dean smiled anyway.

 

“So what’ll it be?” he drawled. “I’m not cheap, darling.”

 

“I can pay.”

 

Definitely a hook up then.

 

Dean shot Cherise a look that said “I’m taking this one” then slid into the passenger side of the car, making a show of touching everything.

 

“Bucket seats,” he purred. “Awesome. And _leather_.”

 

Surely Castiel couldn’t possible question, between the word ‘awesome’ and his compliments for the car, that Dean was Dean and not some half-cocked copy. But Cas was quiet. He pulled back onto the road. For a moment Dean thought he was going to admonish him, or start driving back for the bunker…

 

No. Dean had to get there first. He wasn’t going back like this. He wasn’t going to give Cas that kind of power.

 

“Turn left here.” He instructed, firmly. “Then right. Yeah, into the alley, that’s good. Now stop.”

 

Cas stopped the car.

 

Okay, here goes.

 

Dean reached across and laid his hand on Cas’ thigh. Instantly he could feel the angel tense. Well, that was a good start. Time to lay it on thick, see just how far Cas was willing to take this silent treatment thing.

 

“I’ve got just what you want,” he said, leaning closer. “Just so long as you can pay.”

 

Using it as an excuse to slide his hand against Cas’ chest, he fetched the wallet out of his inside pocket - knowing exactly where he kept it considering he’d watched him take it out often enough – before thumbing through it in the dark. There were notes inside. He had no idea how many he took, but it wasn’t like Cas was asking for his prices. Usually he turned the light on with clients in order to sort out the payment.

 

He didn’t dare leave Cas waiting too long.

 

“Money gets the honey, sweetheart. Now you just sit back and let Genie show you how sweet it can be.”

 

He gave Cas’ jewels a good squeeze first, gave him the chance to change his mind one last time, then climbed across into Cas’ lap, his back almost against the steering wheel as he crammed himself into the angel’s space. Kneading at Cas now, feeling him stiffen – in more ways than one – beneath his palm.

 

Letting Cas think about that, Dean shifted his position, rocked his hips forward so that he could make the most of grinding downwards while his hands were free to unpeel Cas from his claustrophobic layers. The tie had to go. Dean felt it out in the dark, untangling it with accuracy he’d gained from years of practice, and tossing it carelessly into the back seat. He could remember the day that Cas had whipped that tie off right in front of him, the tease, without even the slightest idea how damn sexy it was.

 

Dean bent into the heat of him and kissed at his throat, the places which felt hottest and most abused seemingly the same places that made Cas choke down on gorgeous little noises. Dean liked that. He loved it. So he bit down instead, sucking as hard as he could, wondering if it would leave a mark behind. He wished it would. The idea of leaving a mark on Cas when Cas had left so many marks on him seemed so very intoxicating that it had Dean’s arousal quickly paying attention.

 

Fuck. He would never be doing this if Cas didn’t think he was in the dark about his identity. Was that weird? Maybe it was weird.

 

Still, might as well go all in. He’d been longing to do this since he could remember.

 

He started on Cas’ shirt, spreading it out and tugging the lapels of his coat wider at the same time. It left him with the full expanse of Cas’ chest to explore in the dark, and he found himself chewing his own bottom lip from nerves, well aware that Cas was just letting him do this—that he wanted it, but was trying not to. That wasn’t good enough. Dean wanted to know that Cas wanted it as much as he did; that maybe he always had.

 

God knew the mess their relationship had become was part of the reason why Dean had gone running. Not that he wanted to dwell on it.

 

“I know you can make noises for me. I want to hear you.”

 

As determined as Cas was to keep quiet, he still yelped out loud when Dean pinched his nipple.

 

“That’s better,” Dean purred. He dropped lower, knowing now where to apply his mouth to get the best out of Cas. Sure enough, when he wrapped his lips around Cas’ nipple, he let out one hell of a gorgeous moan. Dean laughed around his mouthful. To think he’d only just touched him. A little bit of teasing and Cas was panting and whining, writhing in his chair, and that was more than convincing enough to have Dean reaching for his cock again, determined to find out how much further along Cas had come since he’d last touched him. He pulled down Cas’ fly, then wriggled his hand inside deftly, taking a firm grip of his cock and pumping hard.

 

It didn’t take much. Cas made wonderful, earth-opening-beneath-his-feet noises and Dean grinned, pressing his mouth against Cas’ collarbone to hide it there.

 

“You paid for everything, so I’m going to give you everything,” he promised. “Tell me you want it.”

 

He could hear Cas panting when he squeezed the head of his cock.

 

“Please.”

 

“Please what?”

 

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Dean bit his lip. It was such a fragile admission. Obviously Cas didn’t think it was good enough, but Dean thought it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

 

“I want it,” Cas begged.

 

Dean couldn’t let up now. “Oh sweetie. Say my name. Say “ _please Genie”_.”

 

Cas kept on begging, just like he was supposed to. “Please, Genie.”

 

“Good boy.”

 

Dean slid out of his lap, taking all the physical contact with him. In an awkward rush he started to pull his own clothes off, regretting dressing up the way he did. Nobody ever really wanted to fuck. They wanted a BJ, usually, or a hand job. Fucking in a car was too awkward anyway, and anal was too dangerous. But damn it. Dean _wanted_ to ride Cas. He needed to do it. Cas was begging him and Dean… Dean had needed this for so long. Even if it was all a lie, even if it wasn’t real, he had to grasp it with both hands, and if Cas didn’t like it then Dean could always say he hadn’t known it was him.

 

No. No, he couldn’t do that. Before this went any further, Cas had to know that Dean knew. It was only fair to bring him in on the secret.

 

Just not before Dean got to feel that gorgeous cock inside him. He needed something he could hold on to. Naked, pushing two lube slick fingers into himself in one thinly veiled effort to make himself even half ready for Cas, Dean clambered back into the angel’s lap. Castiel was panting, making no effort to resist, and Dean tore a condom packet open with his teeth, reaching down between them to unroll it over Cas’ dick in the dark.

 

“Aren’t you going to stop me, Cas?” he asked. He waited a breath, then two, could feel Castiel staring at him in the darkness, and when no hand came up to stop him, Dean took hold of Cas’ cock again at the base and guided the head between his thighs, bearing down with his hips the moment he was lined up. He engulfed Cas’ cock in a single bold thrust, and any protest Cas might have made was swallowed up in a shout.

 

Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s neck, shaking with the effort it took to be filled this way. If only he’d had more time to prepare himself. But fuck, the sting of pain was worth it. It was worth it to be full of Cas, worth it to have the angel right where he wanted him.

 

All these years… All these years they’d traded glances, and Dean had never once thought for real that Cas wanted him. Dean had gone looking for love, for pleasure, for…anything that scratched his itch to be needed as more than just a protector, for the man with needs that he was underneath, and all along Cas had _wanted_ him.

 

He should have opened his stupid gorgeous mouth.

 

Fingers fluttered to his hips, and Dean knew that it was time; that the only way for this to stop hurting half so much was to start fucking. He began to work his hips in a steady rhythm, making sure that each thrust was long and slow, though he wasn’t quite up to the point of squeezing. It seemed to get easier, though, and soon enough pleasure ebbed in as well, inspiring his own desperate little gasps.

 

Cas? Well Cas was making one hell of a lot more noise than that. He was moving, writhing, moaning and sobbing underneath Dean and it felt like all his Christmases had come at once. Filled with joy, Dean heard himself laughing as he picked up speed, and when Cas’ fingernails turned to claws on his hips he pressed his mouth to the angel’s throat again, and dug his teeth in just to hear him cry out.

 

Cas was here to bring him home, and if this was what he was coming home to, Dean didn’t think he would mind. He needed something; that was why he was out here, following this stupid inspiration of his, taking affection in the form of cash payments and rough hands in his hair.

 

But this could be better. This could be so much better. It was what he actually wanted most – really wanted – and if it had taken driving halfway across the country and making Cas pay for it to get him to expose his desires then so be it.

 

“You want me,” he said. “You’re going to have to be honest with me. You tell me what you want.”

 

“I want you,” Castiel panted. He begged, and it sounded sincere. “Please, Dean. Please come home.”

 

“What if I like it here? What if I needed _this_ for me?” Dean asked, thrusting steadily, gripping the back of the chair with one hand, the other arm wrapped flush across the back of Cas’ shoulders to keep his balance.

 

“I can’t stand it,” Cas pleaded. “I can’t leave knowing you’ll…that you’ll—uh.”

 

“That I’ll let strangers pay me for my body? You paid me for it. What’s the difference?” As he spoke, Dean pressed his teeth against the shell of Cas’ ear just to feel him squirm.

 

“I care for you—“

 

“No,” Dean admonished. He squeezed his muscles around Cas’ cock, wringing tight.

 

“I—“

 

But Castiel was done. Cas was helpless under this onslaught, probably hadn’t experienced anything quite like it in his entire existence, and he came so hard that for a second Dean genuinely feared that he’d shot his load straight through the condom. Not that it would matter—if anyone was going to be clean as the proverbial whistle it was going to be an angel of the Lord.

 

But after an orgasm like that, Dean wasn’t going to keep up the whole jilted lover thing. Cas was too fragile for that. Dean could feel it in the way he came down, panting and sobbing, pawing at his sides for some kind of grip only to begin to sink into the seat like melting ice cream.

 

“Cas. Cas. _Hey_ , Cas. I want the truth,” he pleaded, softly, wrapping his arms more gently around Cas’ shoulder and brushing kisses against the corner of his mouth. “Come on, baby, tell me the truth.”

 

Cas moaned in protest, but after a few moments of unsteady breathing he seemed to find the strength to speak. What he said just about blew Dean’s mind. “I love you,” Cas breathed, with undeniable honesty. “I don’t want to see you with…with anyone else. I love you.”

 

Dean relaxed. He rubbed his face against Cas’ shoulder, and smiled against his skin, pressing a little closer. Those were the words he most needed to hear. The ones he’d never expected he’d ever hear again, so broken a man as he’d become. For a little cash and the use of his mouth, strangers had been willing to say it, but he’d never ever hoped to hear it from the man in front of him.

 

“Please come home,” Castiel whispered, and the hope in his voice pulled on the strings of Dean’s heart.

 

“Of course I will,” Dean answered, brushing Cas’ hair back. “I will. I love you too, Cas. I love you too.”


	27. Branding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late! It was my birthday yesterday. I'm still one behind!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sub!Dean

Cas stood in the corner of the tattoo parlour, his eyes flicking back across the room at intervals. The man working on Dean was intent on his work, his face no more than a foot away from Dean’s skin apart from when he twisted around and reached for a fresh cloth to wipe away Dean’s blood, or refilled his ink. Little by little, the image had become clearer, though it had been hours of work now, and Dean’s ability to resist the pain was gradually slipping.

 

He was doing it for Cas. That was what his expression said when he looked over. He didn’t need to speak it out loud, because Castiel knew how much love was going into this. He knew because they’d planned it long before they’d picked out a tattooist, and even that choice had been done with deliberate care, though Dean had loudly protested that they didn’t need a classy joint to get the work done.

 

They locked eyes across the room. This latest bit seemed to be hurting more than Dean could stand, but Castiel knew he could do little about it. Take the pain away and he might risk removing the tattoo as well. Dean would have to wait a few days for the ink to settle first. In the meantime, getting shot or stabbed was off the table.

 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Dean hissed. The tattooist glanced up through his eyebrows at both of them, but said nothing.

 

Cas cocked his hand to his ear, as though he were hard of hearing. “I’m sorry. All I heard was _I love you_.”

 

Dean scoffed. “Fine then. You’re lucky I’m not the sadistic type, or I’d bend you over this chair and give you a tattoo of my own.”

 

“I offered to do it myself,” Cas reminded. “I still can if you like.”

 

“I’m good,” Dean insisted.

 

Silence, then, for a moment or two, and then Dean swore.

 

“Son of a bitch. Are you done yet?”

 

“Almost.”

 

Cas could practically see Dean grinding his teeth, but he stuck it out. Eventually the tattooist sat back, pressing fresh gauze to Dean’s skin and dropping the tattoo gun down on the tray beside him.

 

“You’re done.”

 

“Thank fuck for that,” Dean hissed, beginning the laborious process of getting up when all his old injuries and aches had only been exacerbated by lying in one position for the last three hours. He groaned, and shot Cas an unforgiving glare.

 

“And you can’t do anything about this?”

 

“I suppose it’s beyond the realms of possibility that you might deal with a few aches and pains for a day or two?”

 

“Depends what else you want to do without.”

 

Cas smiled, but shook his head. “Can I see?”

 

“Sure, why not. It’s your property, right?”

 

“That is sort of the point.”

 

Dean turned around, sighing, and Castiel hummed his contentment. There, on Dean’s left asscheek, was the imprint of his right hand, just as it had once been on his shoulder.


	28. Mirror Kink/Katoptronophilia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demon Dean part 3 (which turns out to have a part 4 because tomorrow's/today's works so well)  
> Apologies for the late!  
> Top!Dean obviously, this chapter is either heavily dub-con or non-con depending on your perspective.

Dean was standing at the doorway watching, his expression nearly unreadable. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things; no matter what expression he wore at the moment it spelled out bad things for Castiel.

 

From the center of the room, tethered on his chain and naked but for his trenchcoat, Cas watched the Knight of Hell warily. He kept his chin raised high even though it meant pulling the chain taut, his eyes blazing defiance, not wanting for a moment to share how afraid he really felt, how much seeing Dean like this filled him with unbearable loss.

 

The demon seemed satisfied. After a moment he stepped inside. Calm and frighteningly focused, he crossed to Cas’ side, wrapped his hand around the chain, and pulled down. It _hurt_ , and – caught of guard – Cas crumbled to one knee under the force of it.

 

“You’re not getting any better at this.”

 

“You’re not my King. I have no intention of kneeling for you.”

 

“And here I thought you’d do whatever I asked. I’m not feeling the love, Cas.”

 

Cas’ nostrils flared. He looked away. Love? As though the demon even knew what that was any more. “It would be misplaced with you anyway.”

 

“Yeah. I guess so. But you still feel it, don’t you? The closer you get to human, the more it creeps right in there. Hurts like Hell, too, doesn’t it? The grief? The pain?”

 

Castiel closed his eyes, not prepared to let the demon see that he was right.

 

“That’s what I thought,” Dean said anyway. He tangled his fingers in Cas’ hair, hanging his gaze on Cas like the Sword of Damocles.

 

“I miss you,” Castiel admitted. He said it to his feet first, then looked up. There was no hiding this from the demon anyway. “I miss the real you.”

 

Dean shrugged, then crouched lower, bringing himself down to Cas’ height. He traced his fingers down from Cas’ hairline, and brushed the flat backs of his fingernails against the curve of his cheek. The touch seemed to burn less now than it ever had before; Cas supposed it was because of his depleted grace, the starvation diet that Dean had him on.

 

He’d felt this vulnerable before. He’d been human. He was practically human now, and he could _feel_ it; feel it in the despair that lunged up to the surface whenever he looked into Dean’s black eyes, or saw himself in the full length mirrors that had been placed around the room to mirror his pain back at him.

 

Dean’s finger curled underneath his jaw and tilted it up. Castiel could not resist even though he tried. It almost made him laugh with despair to realize that the demon was now far physically stronger than him, chains or otherwise.

 

“This is the real me, Cas. This is me uninhibited. This is me without worries, free, not needing to hide who I am any more. This is everything you could have ever wanted for me.”

 

“This is you without shame,” Castiel answered bitterly. “This is you without morals or restraint.”

 

“And what’s wrong with any of that? What’s wrong with getting what I want and not caring who it hurts? All anyone ever did was take from me, Cas. Pain is all I’ve known since I was four years old. You don’t know what that’s like. You’ve known pain – what – for a handful of years? It’s nothing.”

 

“My pain isn’t _nothing_ ,” Cas spat. “You can’t invalidate it just by saying that you have more. That isn’t how it works.”

 

Dean bared his teeth. His eyes flicked away, then back, then black.

 

“You’re right. That’s not how it works. Just like making you hurt more isn’t going to ever make us even. Still—I enjoy it.”

 

“Dean—“

 

Dean shook his head. Swallowing, Cas turned his eyes away, catching sight of himself in one of the mirrors. Dean was bent close, almost with his head in his neck, one possessive hand crooked under his jaw. If Castiel hadn’t known better, and if not for the collar and chain, he might even have thought that they were lovers.

 

But then the demon turned and met his eyes in the mirror. They were still black, and the grin he wore matched them in malicious intent.

 

Fear trickled down his spine.

 

“I’m so sorry I disappointed you the other day.”

 

Dean murmured the words against the shell of his ear, practically pressing his lips against it, and Castiel stiffened, regretting – all over again – his mistake in hunting out Dean’s mouth for a kiss. What a fool he’d been. Well he wouldn’t be again. It didn’t matter what Dean did to him, he’d resist it.

 

He’d resist…

 

Dean moved onto his knees behind him, knocking Cas down the rest of the way with firm hands on his hips. There was no resisting him even if there had been any fight left in Cas to resist with. But this…? This was different. Staring at himself in the mirror while Dean folded across his back? It was intimate, and that intimacy _repulsed_ him.

 

But didn’t it repulse Dean too? Wasn’t that what he’d said?

 

Cas was still naked but for the coat and the collar, just as Dean had left him, and one wandering hand climbed up the inside of his thigh, tickling the bare skin. His cock gave a Judas twitch.

 

“Yeah, you like that.”

 

“Please, Dean…”

 

He meant to say “ _Don’t_.” But the word didn’t come out. Instead, whimpering, Castiel curled forward, trying to lower his head so that he didn’t have to look at his own reflection, so that he didn’t have to see what Dean was doing to him.

 

“Oh, _no you don’t_ ,” Dean admonished. In a flash he had a handful of chain and was twisting Cas’ face up, wrestling him around to face the mirror straight on. “This was what you wanted, Cas. Look at what you wanted.”

 

Castiel looked. He couldn’t even deny it, not with his cock curling upward, angling slightly to the left as it filled. He could feel Dean’s warmth tight against his back, the weight of his body a presence that was turning him on almost as much as the sight of himself in his arms. Even though Dean was no longer human, Cas’ body still reacted to him as though it was, as he’d always, _always_ hoped it would one day.

 

Barely even an angel any more, Cas didn’t have the control to turn it off. Shame made him flush, the color climbing from his chest to his neck before reaching his ears.

 

“Would you look at that? _Pretty._ I didn’t even know you could turn that color, Cas.”

 

Opening his mouth to reply, Castiel thought better of it and snapped his mouth shut. This was another mocking trick, more torture to add to the rest; more humiliation.

 

To his eternal shame, when Dean wrapped his hand around Cas’ erection and stroked upward, firm and commanding, Cas made a pitiable whimpering noise. The demon enjoyed that far more than anything that had come before.

 

Lips fell across his shoulder. Mirth danced in the demon’s green eyes, but he didn’t move away as Cas expected, leaving him hard and ashamed. He didn’t stop. He stroked firmly, as Cas could only guess he perhaps stroked himself, all the while holding Castiel’s gaze.

 

 

To be continued


	29. Dacryphilia (Crying)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Top!Dean briefly. Last part of the demon!Dean sequence!

“Dean. Dean, please. Stop this. P-please…”

 

In their reflection, the demon pressed his mouth against Castiel’s shoulder. Teeth grazed the bare skin; light at first, then biting down, sucking hard to blemish the surface. Cas whimpered, then cried out. The demon didn’t stop when it became painful, but dug in deeper until the skin broke, fragile as it was; human without his grace and vulnerable beneath a supernatural onslaught.

 

At the very least the pain seemed to make his arousal ebb, and Cas tried to channel it, tried to focus on the agony as Dean lapped at his blood, fighting his own despair with rebellious focus.

 

Dean made a disappointed noise.

 

“All those times you pushed me against a wall, Cas, I thought you _liked_ it rough.”

 

“This isn’t fun for you,” Cas said. He felt pained. He looked at Dean in the glass and tried to summon his defiance; hard to do with Dean’s hand wrapped around his cock. “And it isn’t what I want either, so just—“

 

“It isn’t fun for me?”

 

“You don’t…” Cas twisted his face away. “The only reason I’m here at all is so that you can…so that you can torture the part of you that was ever human.”

 

“Is that right?”

 

“That’s why you’re pretending you don’t—“ Castiel sucked in a breath. He could hardly think around the hand that was kneading between his thighs, trying to rework rigidity into his softening dick. “—pretend…pretending you don’t love me.”

 

“Cas. Wow, man. I mean…” Dean grinned, pulling his hand away from Cas’ softening cock, squeezing his hip with rough fingers. “You think I love you? That’s crazy talk.”

 

“You _do_ love me.”

 

“And how would you know? I mean come on, you barely know how _you_ feel, I think it’s a stretch to think you know how _I_ feel.”

 

Cas sneered at Dean’s cocky reflection in the mirror. “I’ve always known how you feel better than you know yourself, Dean. I see right through you, I always have.”

 

“Maybe when I was human.”

 

“You _are_ human,” Castiel corrected. “A demon isn’t like an angel. We were created from the ether, formed by God’s own will. But a demon is a corrupted human soul. Corrupted, yes, but _still human_. Deep inside you somewhere you still love. You took me, after all. You didn’t have to. You could have killed me.”

 

He could see that he was getting through. Dean’s hands had slipped to his hips, holding on through the trenchcoat’s layers. It made Cas tremble to feel him so close, to have Dean’s hands on him knowing where they’d been and where they may yet return, but he couldn’t – even looking at his shameful nudity in the mirror – give up on this chance. Not now it seemed like he was making progress.

 

“I would have stayed if you asked, contract or no. But you constructed that situation _because you love Sam._ You did it because you needed an excuse and because you can’t live without me. That’s why you’ve been feeding me just enough grace to keep me alive. I’m keeping you human, Dean, and you can’t afford to lose me.”

 

“You’re a lot of talk,” Dean said darkly. “You know that, Cas? A whole hell of a lot of talk.”

 

Cas caught Dean’s elbow to the head full on, unable to move away from it in time to save himself from the blow. He staggered, and the floor rushed up to meet him, but the length of the chain caught him first, jerking on his throat painfully, the collar digging into his flesh.

 

Dean had him by the hair a moment later, pulling him up only to flip him onto his back. Looming, the demon pressed closer, baring his bloodied teeth at Cas. But as he did, something in the corner of his eye seemed to form and glisten, and Castiel watched, stunned, as a single black tear fell from Dean’s cheek straight to his own.

 

His fear evaporated, replaced with concern, and Dean looked stunned and worried too, sitting back in confusion.

 

“Dean?”

 

“What’s happening to me?”

 

“Dean, look at me. Please.”

 

Frightened ink black eyes flew back to Castiel’s, and he had to try hard to summon anything like a hopeful smile. But he needed to try. Dean was breaking, and this was his opportunity – perhaps the only chance he was going to get – to bring his friend back from the taint of corruption that had taken him.

 

“I know your life wasn’t perfect, Dean. I know that you lost people that mattered to you, and that sometimes it seemed like no matter how hard you tried it only ever fell apart. But you have…you have come _so far_. You have so much, such good in your life that you could hardly have dreamed of when you lost your father years ago.”

 

Cas slowly put his hands underneath himself, lifting his weight upward. Black eyes watched him guardedly, but the spite had gone out of them. As tears fell, Castiel could see the corruption dripping out of Dean like poison. He rallied at the sight.

 

“I love you,” he said, boldly.

 

Dean caught his breath in a gasp.

 

“I love you,” Castiel said again, more firmly this time, and when Dean didn’t resist he reached up to touch his face with both hands, brushing the pads of his thumbs through the inky tears. “And I _know you_.”

 

Dean tried to shake his head away, but there was little effort put into the gesture. The tears came thicker now, and Cas rubbed them away with the sleeve of his coat.

 

“I know you love me too, Dean. Perhaps it was your corruption that made you feel as though…as though you had to corrupt it physically to feel it too. But I know this is what you really want. I know it better than you know it yourself.”

 

“Please, Cas… Please don’t do this to me _. I don’t_ … I don’t want--”

 

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved,” Castiel breathed. “But I have always known better than that. I’ve always known you better than that.”

 

“ _Cas—_ “

 

“Dean.”

 

Castiel bent closer. The tears on Dean’s cheeks were crystal clear now, as was the pain that he was feeling. No demonic presence withheld that pain, or rendered it unintelligible to the man burdened by it. Dean wept, and Cas pressed his mouth to his tears – his human tears – and relished the salty taste on his tongue. He kissed them all away, then let Dean fall sobbing into his arms, stroking circles on his back and nuzzling into his hair.

 

“I love you,” he whispered tenderly. “I love you. I love you. _I love you._ ” He repeated it until the phrase blurred into itself, seemingly neverending.

 

He whispered it again and again; whispered until finally, _finally_ Dean spoke back through his sniffled whimpers:

 

“I love you too.”


	30. Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Dean's birthday...

Dean was grinning anyway, digging his fingers into the wrapping paper and tearing the gift open. He frowned in confusion when the box was finally free, holding it at eye level as though looking at it straight on gave him a better chance of figuring it out.

 

“What are they?”

 

“They’re toys, Dean. See? I had them custom made. A little me and a little you. The little me even has wings.”

 

“I can see that, Cas.”

 

“Didn’t you say you only wanted me for your birthday? Or something vinyl?”

 

“Something _on_ vinyl.”

 

“Oh…”

 

Cas sat back, dejected.

 

“So you don’t…you don’t like them?”

 

“What?” Dean lowered the box. “Of course I like them. I like them, Cas, okay? I love them, they’re adorable. I mean the big eyes are sort of freaky but…”

 

“You don’t like them.”

 

“I love them!” Dean exclaimed. “Come on, Cas. I love them. I love you. Thank you for getting them for me.”

 

Unconvinced, Castiel turned his face away, and a moment later he was scooped up for a kiss. Dean bumped their noses together. “ _I love them_. But I thought when you said it was something we could _play with_ that, you know, it’d be something we could…”

 

“Play with?” Castiel asked, uncertainly.

 

“ _Play with,”_ Dean repeated, filling the words with promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of to-be-continued because I want to finish up here, and I just want to splash on a big kinky Destiel in the bedroom finale.


	31. Wildcard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it is TOTALLY WILD  
> This is a switch fic, with both top and bottom Cas and Dean. There's also reflection back on a bunch of other kinktober ficlets for those that loved them, and some double-penetration. Bonus mushrooms for the DAU folks who supported my Kinktober challenge month! And a fluffy happy ending in a totally functional arguably canon-compliant Destiel relationship.  
> All anyone could ever ask for ^_~ Enjoy!  
> Thanks for all your support!

Setting the two Pop figures on the shelf above the headboard, Dean dropped himself at the top of the bed, one leg folded underneath him. Across the room, Castiel stood in the doorway. Sam had already left, suspecting that whatever Cas had gotten Dean as a “birthday gift” was something he wanted to know as little about as possible.

 

He wasn’t wrong.

 

“Shall I get out the bee costume?” Cas growled, dropping his fingertips onto the doorframe.

 

“Yeah, no,” Dean answered, sitting forward. “As much as I enjoy what those shorts do your butt…”

 

“I like it too,” Castiel answered cheerfully.

 

“Yeah, well. It’s _my_ birthday, and I say I’m only gonna put up with watching you strip just the one time.”

 

“So you’d like me to strip?”

 

Dean gestured a nod toward him and sat back again, and Castiel took that as prompting to begin, undoing his tie with agile fingers. Dean always seemed to like that; seemed to enjoy the way Cas took both ends of the tie and whisked it through the fingers of one hand by pulling it off his neck with the other.

 

Bundling the tie, he threw it into Dean’s lap before starting on the buttons of his shirt.

 

“Yeaaah. Yeah, Cas. I like that.”

 

Castiel smiled, stepping further into the room and toeing the door shut behind him. If Sam came back he’d be furious if they left the door open. The moment it was closed Cas shed his coat, shirt and jacket, dropping them to the floor in a heap.

 

“You’re so gorgeous,” Dean purred. “So gorgeous, Cas.”

 

“More beautiful than those women?” Cas demanded, though it was playful, cooing. He came closer, almost swaying his hips as he did.

 

“What women?” Dean asked, with no small amount of jest.

 

Castiel made a soft sound of satisfaction, and smiled as Dean shifted on the bed, kneeling across his lap. He ground his hips down, smirking as Dean readjusted himself further, one hand to either side on the bed, tilting his body so that he was more comfortable looking up.

 

Cas rewarded him with another happy roll of his hips, and grinned when Dean whimpered and swore. Dean had always enjoyed lapdances, but he’d never known what he was missing. Lapdances with the man he loved always involved copious touching, nudity, and eventual sex; things that typically club dancers didn’t go in for.

 

“So do I get to see them?”

 

“You want to?”

 

“Of course I do. When do I ever not?”

 

What could he do when Dean asked so very nicely but spread his wings wide for the man beneath him to admire? It was more than enough to hear Dean gasp when he did.

 

“Jesus, Cas… I’m never going to be able to get over how amazing they are.”

 

Castiel was far too flattered to answer. He sat still as Dean reached to touch, tracking his fingertips across the spread feathers and smiling as Castiel swayed them back and forth above him, moving them in time with the rolls of his hips so as to better keep his balance. By the time Dean was free of his shirt, unbuttoned by questing fingers while Castiel danced above him, he was hard as a rock and holding on tight to the shoulders of his wings as though he could keep himself from falling apart entirely under the onslaught.

 

“Fuck,” Dean hissed, then “fuck” again. Cas understood. His own dick was aching from constraint, and his underwear was a torture device, dispensing unruly friction when all Cas wanted was the embrace of hot flesh. It was likely worse for Dean with Cas’ weight bearing down on him as well.

 

It only took a thought for them both to be naked, and Castiel didn’t waste any time – didn’t have to – lowering himself down onto Dean’s cock without preparation.

 

“Jesus fucking…unh… _Cas_. How the fuck do you do that? _You’re so fucking tight._ ”

 

Dean’s hands slipped. Even if he wanted to hold on to Cas’ wings, it seemed he didn’t have the strength to keep them that high, and they slipped to Cas’ hips and held on there instead. Every time Cas rolled his hips in a deep grinding thrust, Dean’s hands held tighter, riding out the sensation.

 

It was the moans which were the most beautiful to Cas; helpless, beautiful sounds tumbling from Dean’s parted lips. He’d watched him masturbate before when Dean didn’t know he was there, long before they’d ever fallen into this - watched Dean come by his own hand, beating off in front of a mirror - but it was nothing to what it felt like to look down and see Dean moan because of him, his face contorting into pleasure because _Cas_ was _just that good._

 

And when it came right down to it, when Dean _came_ and Castiel felt the rush of Dean’s seed inside him… It felt good. It felt _incredible_. The power of Dean’s raw creation filled him up, and it was a thrill to which Cas had found no equal.

 

He pulled off Dean’s cock, watching it soften between his parted thighs as Cas readjusted them both. Dean was damp with sweat, shaking from the impact of his orgasm, his hair stuck to his face at odd angles. He was stunning, like a picture, and Castiel added the memory to his snapshot gallery of similar images.

 

As Castiel moved between Dean’s legs, he made sure to lean across to the bedside table and snag the lube out of the top drawer. Dean waited, in no condition to complain, not even when Cas nudged two fingers into him at once, prizing his hole open.

 

It was tempting to just fuck him with his fingers. Dean always made such obscene noises while he was being prepared, and there was nobody else down here in the bunker but Cas to hear them. Instead, when Dean was wet and ready, Cas reached back to the drawer, digging out by touch one of the few other things Dean kept in there, a red and white mushroom shaped butt plug with an expanding, vibrating head.

 

Lathering it up generously, Cas pressed the tip inside, then followed through with the rest of the body of the plug. It sat inside him, full and thick already, an enticing reminder to Dean of what would soon be coming his way.

 

“Ah…ah. Cas, is that…?”

 

“You’re not ready yet, Dean.”

 

“I’ve got a crazy idea,” Dean murmured, rolling his head back into the pillow behind him. “Maybe next time you can be the poor guy who has to come twice.”

 

“Would you rather not come again? I can stop…”

 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Dean snapped, opening his eyes wide. Cas just returned a _wider_ grin.

 

Wrapping his hand around both their cocks, Dean’s sensitive from his recent orgasm, Cas made sure to keep the intensity of pleasure low, determined to hold out long enough to enjoy round two. He reached down between them with his other hand and thumbed the vibrator on, watching Dean whimper with delight as the oscillating plug swelled wider inside him.

 

“F-f _uck_. Cas. _Cas…”_

 

If anything was going to mess with his control it was Dean trembling with need beneath him, his still mostly soft cock spurting precome across Cas’ fist as the vibrator teased mercilessly at his prostate. A moment later Dean was getting hard again, and Cas pulled back, reaching between them to tease at Dean’s hole with his fingertips again.

 

“Don’t…” Dean writhed, digging his heels into the bed as though he could climb away from the sensation. “Don’t you fucking dare, Cas. Don’t…unh…”

 

But Castiel wasn’t listening. He had two fingers inside Dean beside the plug already, and a moment later he was guiding the head of his cock into place, spreading Dean’s legs apart only to split him open with the entirety of his erection.

 

It was such a simple thing to take the pain away, and _oh_ it was worth it.

 

“Oh fuck. Oh God, _God, please_ …”

 

“Dean,” Cas admonished, wrapping his fist around Dean’s cock as he bent back over him. “Look at me.”

 

“Cas… Oh God, Cas…”

 

The vibrations up the length of his cock were intense, but Castiel focused as hard as he could on the man beneath him. “Look at me, Dean.”

 

When Dean still refused to open his eyes he spread his wings out wide and beat them commandingly. The snap of air caught Dean’s attention, and his beautiful, long eyelashes flew apart, bathing Cas in green.

 

“The only person I ever want you to pray to is me. Do you remember?”

 

“I…unh. I remember.”

 

“What color are you?”

 

“I’m green, Cas. Fuck. For you I’m always green, just would you please…”

 

Castiel nodded, catching Dean’s hips in his hands firmly and beginning with a gentle rhythm. It didn’t take much for either of them, the electric hum and the impossible tightness of being crammed into Dean’s ass alongside the butt plug far too much for him to take, and Dean was equally undone by the double penetration. His cock weeped with every thrust, and ultimately Dean’s ejaculation was little more than a messy dribble, but his orgasm seemed to Cas to be glorious, and it didn’t come much after Castiel had experienced his own.

 

Thumbing off the vibrator, Cas held it in place as he pulled his spent cock free. He was shaking all the way to the tips of his wings, but it was Dean who looked completely fucked, a wreck beneath him with his limbs all askew and his freckles dark against his flushed cheeks. He looked like a fallen idol, a god himself tumbled onto the bedsheets, gorgeous like a Renaissance artist had painted him.

 

Castiel bent to kiss Dean’s burning cheeks, wrapping his wings around their bodies. The feathers regulated heat far better than Dean’s body could on its own; this way when he’d sweat off the last of it the chill wouldn’t seep in and catch them both unawares as they dozed together.

 

“Mmm,” Dean said, just as Castiel thought that perhaps he was drifting off to sleep. He turned his head abruptly, almost clocking Cas on the nose where he’d nuzzled into Dean’s hairline. “Mm, Cas?”

 

“What is it?”

 

“In the drawer…there’s something for you.”

 

“But it’s _your_ birthday, Dean.”

 

“I know, Cas. It’s sort of for me too. Just get it, would you? I don’t think I can move.”

 

A little resentfully, Cas uncoiled, reaching his arm out and fishing away in the drawer. The only shape that wasn’t familiar more or less slid into his palm. It felt soft on the outside, but also hard, square. Curling his hand around it, he pulled it into the cocoon of his wings, and set it on the center of Dean’s chest, watching it rise and fall with his every breath.

 

It was a little blue box, velvet, and when he touched the release it opened to reveal a silver ring not unlike the one that Dean usually wore on his finger.

 

Dean was ready with a smile, his eyes sparkling.

 

“Will you marry me, Castiel? And just for the record you can’t say “No”. It’s my birthday.”

 

It was like Dean said.

 

He couldn’t possibly say “No”.

 

And why would he?

**Author's Note:**

> For daily updates and to see my art (I'm also working on an SPN Inktober), please feel free to follow me on tumblr at "thedogsled".


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